Three Months A Fox
by WildeNick
Summary: Picking up just seconds after Nick is crushed at the ZPD presser, follow him on a 3 month journey of self-discovery and survival of 'The City Gripped by Fear'. Along the way there are more attacks, protests, a new mayor, and a deviously unfolding plot to turn Zootopia against predators. While he will inevitably end up under a bridge with Judy, this is the story of how he gets there
1. Escape

Note:

In the event that you are unaware, the directors of Zootopia have stated that the time between the press conference and when Judy finds Nick under a bridge is about 3 months' worth of time. This story is about what happened during those 3 months. Enjoy :)

…

Day 0

…

… _It's called a hustle…something to do with biology…I was like you once…Have fun workin' with the fuzz...you'd actually make a pretty good cop…sly fox, dumb bunny…it would be nice to have a partner…trust a fox without a muzzle?...you are so much more than that…you can only be what you are…look at you junior detective…never tried to be anything more than a fox…I was going to be a part of a pack…you liar…a case to crack…reverting to their primitive savage ways…you saved me…are you gonna cry?..._

 _Never let them see that they get to you…_

He had to get out of here. It didn't matter where, just go. The bright afternoon sun outside didn't make sense. It hurt his eyes. Everything was spinning. There was too many mammals out here. He found his glasses in his pocket, something else too, he fumbled to get them on his face. He couldn't keep this act up for long, someone would see him, they would know. His body knew where to go but his mind wouldn't make it that far. It was only minutes ago he was signing something. He had seen something, found something, _been_ something. It was in his paws for just a few seconds. It was gone now. He needed to be gone too. He had to get out of here.

Nick Wilde's body wandered through the city. Muscle memory had a map of every single street and it had no problem navigating to the place that the fox it belonged to needed to be. That fox had learned long ago all the tricks needed for independence. Independence from everything. Independence from everyone. There was no one to turn to, no help to call on, and no refuge to fall on, save for himself. That was the way it had always been, and now it seemed that was the way it was going to stay. What the fox needed to do he couldn't do here, and so while his body roamed, his mind remained frozen, locked in wait until it was safe to do the things that needed to be done. The automation of his self-reliance carried him forward.

It had been hours and miles to the final destination and the sun was casting a pink-orange glow over the riverside landscape. The derelict warehouse in front of him was as broken as he was. The property had been abandoned long before he was born and it had changed paws as often as the paper that had paid for it. The last and final deed holder had won it in a poker match some twenty-eight years ago.

John Wilde had never been much for gambling but on that particular occasion the mammal who was both dealer and previous owner assured him it would be worth his while. With no leans having been filed and no mortgages to be fulfilled, ownership was outright and the only recurrence was a property tax.

The plans he'd had for the place were big, but not nearly as big as the ones fate had for him. A mere three months later, with no buyers to sell to and no requisite for more hardship, a widowed vixen and her four-year-old kit refrained from becoming the next names on a long list maintained by city hall records.

Even now, in the bad standing of three decades of penalty accrual, it was still one John Wilde on the books as proprietor. It had been two years after a box was placed in the ground that Nick found the key. At the time, he could still remember riding the shoulders of an impressively charismatic fox that confided in the kit all his machinations for this place. As it was at present, Nick could no longer playback that specific memory and his only awareness of its happening now existed in the meta of that later recollection.

His initial explorations revealed that the only place that had any semblance to it was a high-up office that overlooked the rubble-ridden floor. Books and sketches and fabric yards lay strewn about in chaotic order. It was all as his father had left it. It had been meant for him and with no contender for the right to it, he had, officially approved or not, finally accepted his inheritance.

At first it had simply been his secret, his retreat, and his last thread of someone he had lost. But a fateful incident two years subsequent demanded he find safety and drove him to seek this place once more. When he arrived, the anger and fear decayed back into loss and loneliness and he'd sat at his father's desk and cried until he couldn't.

It was that night he had resolved his life mantra: _Never_ _let_ _them_ _see_ _that_ _they get_ _to_ _you_. But here was safe, here was refuge, here was sanctuary. A place where no one could see him and a place where he _could_ let it get to him. He returned every week for years, unable to reveal to his mother the tribulations he had been through. Even in his strongest mask he would never be able to hide from her how much it got to him and her empathy would feel tenfold what it actually was; he just couldn't do that to her. So once a week, he dressed in the uniform she was so proud to see him in and came here for several hours before eventually returning home to tell her lies about all the activities he hadn't done with all the friends he didn't have.

In those hours he would busy himself with looking through the books on the shelves and the pads in the desk. His father had thousands of drawings stored here; all manner of suit, shirt, shoe, vest, tie and pant, in dozens of styles and each in every size of mammal there was.

In later years he would read some of the books, as well. He had no way to know for sure if his father had actually read them too, but comparing the content he absorbed with the stories he had been told and the precious memories he still had, Nick had no doubt that John had read every word of this library twice.

John's mementoes were a deficient facsimile of the original that was meant to raise him and the world is a cruel and unforgiving place for abandoned foxes. That first night he was here in uniform, Nick had also resolved that if the world was only going to see him as a fox, then a fox he would be. While what this forced him to become was not even a shadow of the vision John had had for him, he could see how no alternative was possible; the world would simply not allow it.

As the years of learning the rough rules of the street wore on, he returned here for asylum when there was nowhere else to go. It was often at the beginning, sometimes to cry, sometimes to scream, sometimes to just be as alone as he actually felt, but always when it became too much to hide. This place could protect him from being seen and for that he was indebted to it. Alive or dead, John Wilde would do and had done everything he could to provide safety and security for the kit that he loved without condition.

As more years hardened him, Nick found his need for escape appearing less and less. Eventually he didn't have to pretend that things didn't get to him, he could just skip to indifference every time. He had not needed to be here in years, but the events of the last two days had somehow wiped the conditioning of the last two decades and he found himself with that need once again.

His digits rummaged in his pocket, past that other thing, and found a key ring. He selected one, and had he looked at it, it would have been a dark worn copper with greens in its etchings. He slid it into the rusty steel frame door's lock and heard a click when he turned it. As he stepped inside this safe place his mind began to thaw and when the door latched shut behind him it roared back with devastating force.

He turned and punched the door several times, slamming echoes into the cavernous space beyond, yelling and growling as he did so. He wanted so badly for it to be anger he felt; then the pain would only have been in his knuckles. The outburst cooled quickly and he gave one last weak pound on the door as his head leaned forward to thud against it. The feigned anger revealed itself as loss and loneliness. The pain, far worse than his now bleeding paw, was suffocating him in the literal sense and he collapsed to his knees as he gasped for air. This place had never protected him from pain, that wasn't its purpose; it only had the power to shield that pain from view of others, always leaving the pain itself as his to bear.

The loss was that of a lost opportunity. He had been so close to something. Something he could have been proud of. Something his father would have been proud of. Something more than the sly fox he had turned himself into. Something that he had strived to be long ago. He had glimpsed something that was potential only to be tossed back to the cave that was his life.

The weight of _what_ _could_ _have_ _been_ was infinite and it now crushed him as he realized how trapped he really was. He had been raised up to see the walls that surrounded him, that he had not even known were there, only to be cast back so violently to their entrapment. He could see now that his only accomplishment in life had been survival. His only purpose had been to perpetuate himself. There had not been any point to it at all.

The loneliness was something he hadn't felt in a long time. That had been the first thing his mind learned to skip over. With nothing to compare it to, it had just been the way things always were. But someone had cared for him and he had cared for them. There was respect and understanding and confidence. Someone had _believed_ in him, and they had _trusted_ him. He couldn't remember the last time someone had placed belief or trust in him. He couldn't even remember a time that he had deserved to have either. Now finding himself back in what he now knew to be darkness, the contrast of the companionship these last two days was blinding. His new understanding of the world recolored everything previous and the loneliness he felt was not just from now, but from the summation of his entire lifetime.

He sat with his back against the door with his head in his paws and his eyes shut tight in a vain attempt to stem the tears he could now feel forming behind them. The pain was drowning him and he was sure he would asphyxiate before the night was through. As the sweep of all the loneliness behind him met all the lost possibility in front of him, he collapsed to his side trembling and wrapped his tail tight around his curled-up body as he finally relented and allowed the first hot, bitter tears to run down his face.

…

The moon had risen nearly to the top of the window now. The tears had stopped and the heaving had slowed but that was more due to fatigue than any acceptance. The pain had not subsided, but it was not quite as raw as it had first been.

He slid his tail off his paws and slid his paws off his eyes. There was no power in this place but that had never been a problem for his night vision. He found his objective along the wall and under the window overlooking the nonexistent factory. Long ago he had put a cot up here for nights like these. Wearily, he picked himself up and took off his tie as he made his way to the makeshift bed. He shook the dust of ten years off the blanket and collapsed on the thin mattress. He curled up in a ball like he had as a kit and swaddled himself in both his tail and the blanket. With his head under his paws he experienced a small relief as it seemed that exhaustion would bring him to sleep before the pain that had caused it could bring him more tears.


	2. Day 1

…

Day 1

…

A passing cargo barge on the water outside blasted a fog horn. It woke Nick, but not as suddenly as he would have thought. The startling shock of the noise had no chance of matching the heaviness that directed his attention. Sleep had not lessened the pain from last night but he was expectant that it would give him the strength to deal with the situation more properly today. He felt damp sheets and smelled his own musk filling the room and took comfort in the fact that he could not remember any of the dreams he must have had.

The smallest sliver of sun could be seen at the top of the window. He figured it must be late in the morning but the time was not important. He had nothing to do today. He never had anything to do on any day. His life consisted of no obligations, no responsibility, and, as he remembered last night, no purpose. He had his hustles, but those were freelance. No one was going to fire him if he didn't show up. It was likely no one would even notice; one less fox clogging the sidewalks was hardly anyone's concern.

It was more a result of the time that had passed than the sleep, but he felt his constitution was strengthening back to something that could at least maintain an impression of his mask to the world. This is how it had been at the beginning; feeling the pain, but never showing it. He would have to re-learn how to not feel it again, but only more time could do that.

He knew he should call Finnick, let him know that he was still alive; at the very least, he was still that. He didn't have his phone on him, though; it was at his apartment. It was dead and he had left it on the charger when he had stopped by after… _I was going to be part of a pack…you are so much more than that…_ It didn't matter, the phone was at his apartment.

His body, and especially his chest, were sore from the heaving spasms of labored breathing and his inability to _deal_ _with_ _it_ last night. He rolled out of bed and stretched his aching form.

His eyes looked down to see his tie on the floor in front of him. He bent to pick it up and brushed off the dust that clung to it. He ran his pads over the dark navy fabric and the blue and red stripes.

That tie had come from this room. When he was still far too short to wear one, he had found several in the wardrobe at the edge of this space. Later in his teens, when he had grown to a size more fitting of them, he was relieved to find that no moths had taken an interest before he finally had. At that time he had taken them all to be kept safe with his own things.

Every tie he owned was from John. He once had the malformed intention of wearing them to remind himself of what his father wanted him to be, but as he moved further and further from that destination, the tie became more habit than reminder. He actually hadn't even thought of the ties as being anything more than what they were in quite some time. _I'm sorry dad_.

He went to the profoundly tarnished mirror on the front of the wardrobe. His intention was to retie his tie but he wasn't prepared for the reflection that copied him. His weary ears framed a messy, matted face. Seeing in his own eyes the despair that he felt was threatening a feedback loop of dismay. His shirt was visibly dirty with dust from the previous days' adventures but a spot on the top left was still bright as though it alone had been freshly laundered. The spot had a crisp outline and was the shape of a… _look at you junior detective_ …It didn't matter, the shirt needed to be washed.

He looked away and rolled up the tie. It wasn't right for him to wear it, anyways; John had meant for that to belong to a different fox, a better fox, not him. He went to stuff it in his pocket when he felt… _in case you needed something to write with_ …It didn't matter, he put it in his other pocket. Not much better there as his pad-tipped digits found the red Ranger Scout neckerchief, but that was an article he had properly come to terms with long ago.

He had never thought of himself as nostalgic but he realized what a bad lie that was; he literally carried around the physical evidence of his life's greatest tragedies. Whether they were reminders of times he had tried to be something more or reminders of the consequences that trying had, he did not know.

He spread the damp blanket over a chair and walked to the window to open it. He let the place air out a little as he watched the boats cross the harbor. It was another beautiful day outside and the contrast with how he still felt was disconcerting. The warm sun on his face and the fresh breeze off the water slowly eased that distress.

He locked up his redoubt and began the journey back to his apartment. Cypress Grove was by no means close to here but he still had no schedule to keep. He knew that public transit would put him in proximity with more mammals than he could handle right now so walking was the only option.

…

It was another few hours before he reached his apartment. 'The Groves' wasn't exactly the best part of the Rainforest District but it was relatively inexpensive. He enjoyed lavish things when they found him but his actual desires never really expanded beyond the things he knew he could hold onto: simple things. This apartment was simple and so were its furnishings.

As he opened the door he heard a small voice call after him. He knew what the voice wanted but he had no interest in conversing with it. Nick quickly shut the door before his tiny mouse landlord, Mr. Victor Pruitt, could catch up to him.

"Mr. Wilde!" the mouse was actually rocking the door pretty hard with his knocking despite his small size. "Mr. Wilde, I know you're in there!" Nick walked to the cabinet over his stove and pulled down a jar. "Mr. Wilde, we had an agreement!" Nick pulled out five twenty dollar notes along with a single ten dollar note and returned the jar. "You are a whole day late with payment, Mr. Wilde!" As Nick strode back to the door he contemplated the absurdity of the arrangement; part of the conditions of his tenancy was that rent was to be paid every week instead of every month and while the reasoning was because of what type of mammal he was, it had nothing to do with him being a predator. "I am in my rights to call…" the mouse did not finish as Nick slid the hundred buck charge and the ten buck late fee under the door. "Be on time next week, Mr. Wilde!"

He stood and stared at the door for a few moments as he contemplated his next move. He hadn't thought of anything specific and it had been a mistake to turn around before he had. He saw how small and cramped this dark place was.

It had never bothered him before, but now it was a concrete metaphor of what he knew his life to be. It was suffocating him in the literal sense again. The null potentials of the future and the stark seclusion of the past met again in the present to crush him once more… _I think you'd actually make a pretty good cop…it would be nice to have a partner…_ He barely made it to the sink as he heaved up what little his stomach contained.

When the brutal lurching finally stopped he was left hanging onto the edge of the counter panting as his eyes watered and he tried to catch his breath. His claws dug deep marks in the wood where he gripped. He hit the faucet and let the ice-cold water run over the back of his injured paw. The chill gave his body a contrast to focus on and established a foundation where he might reground himself. He completed his return to the moment with several deep and shaky breaths.

He needed to pull himself together. As dangerous as it apparently was to be left alone with his own thoughts, it was more dangerous to be seen in this state by others. The only thing he had left was his old life and the Nick that fit into it had a reputation to uphold. If he ruined that, then he really would have nothing.

 _Just start going through the motions, it will make sense eventually_. He turned off the water and dried off his paws. He removed his shirt and threw it in the hamper. He cleared his pockets; first the tie, which he placed in a drawer next to its companions; then the neckerchief and his keys, which he placed on top of the dresser; and after that…he closed his eyes tight as he stifled a surging memory. He placed the object next to the others and walked, eyes still shut tight, to the bathroom. These reminders of a lost time were going to keep happening. He was going to need to learn to deal with it, to _not_ _let_ _it get_ _to_ _him_. He avoided the mirror as he entered the shower.

While he let the warm water roll over him he realized he needed to parse out which parts of his life were still important so he could start moving forward again. The emotional roar-a-coaster he had been on these past few days had really thrown off his ability to accurately measure reality. There was no benefit in keeping those outliers on the chart since they made everything else look like a flat sameness of despondent lost causes. In order to get a more focused perspective on what was actually relevant, he needed to omit those from his thinking. It would not be easy, but it would be necessary.

 _I am still just a fox. It's all I am. It's all I ever was. It's all I can ever be._ Those remnant thoughts from a childhood trauma had now been thoroughly confirmed. There was no doubt about it. As much as he wanted that to be wrong, it just wasn't the reality of the situation. He had pushed that theory to the absolute limit and the result came back proof positive... _you are so much more than that_ …No, that was not a productive thought, and it was not the truth. _I am just a fox. I have always been a fox. I will always be a fox._

Survival had pretty much been the underlying theme of Nick's entire life. It had been basically autonomic the past ten years as he and Finnick had fallen into a nice groove, but it was still always there, always running in the background. So while Nick was busy reestablishing bulkheads in his conscious mind, his survival instinct started picking over some of the particulars of the last few days, looking for anything of value. A purely subconscious action, it was careful pan out only the facts and leave any emotional entanglements where they were. A few of these details stood out among the rest and relationships between them started to form. There were gaps in the connections, to be sure, but an inescapable conclusion began to emerge.

Something deep in the foxy part of Nick's mind panged with fear. It was in response to an idea he was having, a revelation of sorts. It scared him badly. It frightened him enough to make him forget about the other agony he was in. The logic of the situation started to bubble forth and take shape.

He hadn't _really_ heard it at the time, he had only felt it. She had said it was 'a biological component' and 'something in their DNA', and how he felt about that aside, it was the mere fact that she had said it. Predators _were_ going savage, he had seen it with his own eyes and the whole city had seen it on TV. He had no idea what was causing it and neither did she. No one did, but she said it was ' _biology'_ in front of two dozen cameras and a herd of reporters.

It was just speculation but what would the public do with that information? She had been _so_ _quick_ to jump to that conclusion and, how he felt about that aside again, others would be quick to do the same. He knew they would. The public mentality that forced him to lead this life would accept those conjectures as facts without question; it may even demand that they be true.

What would that do to the city? What was the logical conclusion to all this? If there were more attacks, how would the public respond? She had singled them out specifically as 'all members of the predator family'. How he felt about that aside once more, what was that going to mean for predators? _…'Have you considered a mandatory quarantine on predators?'…_ Did a reporter really ask that? Had he really heard that? If he did, would they really consider that as a viable strategy? What would a _mandatory_ _quarantine_ involve?... _are you gonna' cry?..._ A flashed memory that escaped his suppression showed him what _mandatory_ _quarantine_ was, at least in part.

He was getting worked up again and he needed to calm down. He flipped the shower to cold and let the shock re-stabilize his mind. Regardless of what he _felt_ happen to him yesterday, that event could very well pose a real and lasting _physical_ danger to himself and others. If he was going to keep himself free he need to stay focused.

' _Free'… Why would I use_ that _word? They wouldn't really…would they?_

Maybe even staying alive was at stake.

 _I am a fox. I have always been a fox. I will always be a fox._ _I am a survivor. I am a predator. I am not going to let them get me. I am a fox._

Nick turned off the shower and took several very deep breaths; in through the snout and out through the muzzle.

To get rid of the excess water he started a shake that began in his head and worked its way through his body to end in his foot; it made a hell of a mess but he loved the feel of it, and today he would take anything he could get. He got a towel and used it to finish the job and to make sure his fur would be fluffy when it finally dried.

He had a mission now and his schemester persona busied his mind with making a list of tasks that would need to be completed; a plan, if you will. As with all his plans, he needed to consult his partner in crime: Finnick.

He found his phone for the first time since he'd been back. It had been dead when he plugged it in and while it now showed '100%' he still had to wait for it to run through the boot-up sequence. It was unusable for the first minute as it pinged and vibrated spasmodically with updates, emails, notifications, and text messages. When it finally started giving minimal response to his gestures he opened the text messages first.

Five messages _,_ all from Finnick. He scrolled up in an attempt to read them chronologically:

[u in cuffs yet? haha]

[meet at regular place?]

[u can at least call if u gonna bail]

[was that fucking bitch on news the rabbit u ran off with?]

[srsly fox, she put u in a zoo or what?]

Nick took a deep breath and summoned his old facade. He hit the call icon.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Finnick answered angrily.

"Aww, you miss daddy?" Nick asked in mocking response.

"Fuck you, Nick. Seriously, you can't return a text message?" Finnick questioned irately.

"Oh Fin, I never realized how sentimental you were!" Nick swooned back.

"You're such a bastard, Wilde," Finnick grumbled.

"Hey now, John was a good fox," Nick said in a hurt tone.

"If you're calling from the zoo, I decided I'm gonna' let you stew in there a few days for being such an idiot," Finnick stated decisively.

"Sheesh, with friends like you, Fin. Well, lucky me, I guess, not in the zoo," Nick said with some actual genuine relief in his voice.

"Too bad," Finnick muttered.

"Yeah? And how'd the elephant thing go without dad around?" Nick asked jokily.

Finnick remained silent on the other side of the line.

"Did services try to pick you up again?" Nick probed.

"Was there actually a reason you called, Wilde?" Finnick yelled.

"I haven't eaten all day, wanna grab drinks?" Nick inquired.

"Yeah, where ya' thinking?" Finnick responded in a more relenting tone.

"Haven't been to Dusky's in a while," Nick stated.

"Thought you said you were hungry, too," Finnick spoke with confusion.

"They have food there," Nick replied candidly.

"Yeah, but I thought you…" Finnick sounded puzzled as Nick cut him off.

"We're still preds, right?" Nick said slyly.

"Well, I'm out three days take, so you're payin'," Finnick growled.

"Fine. Meet you there in two hours?" Nick asked expectantly.

"Yeah, whatever," Finnick groused curtly before ending the call.

Nick put his phone in his pocket. It felt good to talk to Finnick again. Well, maybe _good_ wasn't the right word, but perhaps _normal_ would suffice. Compared to the last twenty-four hours, though, normal felt pretty good. He had a plan and he had just taken the first step towards reintegrating with his old life. For now, at least, there was something other than the pain to focus on and _that_ was progress.

…

 _Dusky's_ was actually a decent place but it was still located in a pretty shady area of the marshlands. The few times he and Finnick had been there they only had drinks, and while there was quite the selection, drinks wasn't exactly what the establishment was known for.

Modern science still didn't know much about the _Simul Consurgant_ but that hadn't stopped them from naming the event. Whatever it was, it had seemingly graced the entire Mammal Kingdom with sentience, but had left all other life as technically, though not social acceptably, _fair game_.

 _Dusky's_ was one of only a few such institutions that took advantage of this distinction. Reptilian predators really actually were the unthinking savage beasts that prey so often liked to imagine their mammalian counterparts to be, and controlling reptile populations was one of those necessary facts of life that most mammals tried to ignore. _Dusky's_ had carved out a niche in the thin space between tightly regulated hunting permits and a tenant of Zootopian culture to waste no resource.

Walking was going to help keep his head clear and give him time to continue planning. He had spent most of the day being beside himself and it was now early evening. The sun hadn't set yet, but it was no longer strong enough to overpower the near-perpetual overcast of the Rainforest District.

It was around this time every night that unknown meteorological phenomena forced frigid air from Tundra Town up over the climate wall. While it was quickly warmed by the moist air here, it still managed to provide a cool evening breeze for several hours nearly every day. It was relaxing to have it blow through his fur and it kept Nick calm as he made his way to the marshlands.

Finnick had arrived first and was waiting for him at a high-top in the corner of the diner. He had already ordered himself a drink and was browsing the menu. Nick made his way over and hopped up on the opposite seat. "Miss me?" he asked with pseudo excitement.

"My wallet did," Finnick said gruffly as he put the menu down.

"Yeah, well, I'll make it up to you tomorrow." Nick put on a sly half lidded grin that wasn't entirely a lie.

"Oh, so you're not going to be too busy fighting crime then?" Finnick asked sarcastically.

"You know foxes can't be cops, Fin," Nick's tone and smile didn't miss a beat. _I am going to make it through this._

"Took you three whole days to figure that out?" Finnick was half jabbing, half probing now.

"Nah, just decided to take a few days off is all," Nick said casually.

"Uh-huh." Finnick was skeptical but if Nick didn't want to say, he wouldn't push _too_ hard.

"So did services really come after you?" Nick was partially jabbing also but he was curious what the fennec had been up to.

"You're a real ass, Nick." Finnick had a disapproving scowl on his face.

Nick gave a chuckle as a cougar server interrupted them. "Anything to drink?"

"What are you havin'?" Nick asked Finnick.

"Great Rivers," he responded tersely.

Nick had some genuine excitement at hearing the name and looked back to the server, "Ooh, do you have their _Azule_ on tap?"

"Yup. I'll bring it right out," the waiter replied.

Finnick chuckled at Nick and his ability to find anything and everything that had blueberry flavoring.

"Eh, I know what I like." Nick smiled as he gestured resignation with his paws.

"Damn, who got the other side of that?" Finnick asked, surprised, as he pointed to the paw that had a small bit of fur scuffed off the knuckles and was beginning to scab.

"Hmm?" Nick looked down at it quizzically. "Oh, you mean this?" he asked as he rolled his wrist around a bit. "Well… you know the first rule of Fox Club." Nick gave a half-lidded smirk as he let the statement hang.

"Yeah. Uh-huh. You in a cage match?" Finnick let out a hearty laugh.

The server came back and asked if they were having anything to eat as he handed Nick his drink. Nick took a gulp of his brew and it tasted pretty good but it also made him realize that he was actually very hungry. The last time he had eaten was a whole other lifetime ago.

The smells of the place had put him a little on edge, as they were meant to do. For predators that were so often limited to eggs, syn-tein, and plant-based powders, the smell of actual meat that had once been living, breathing, and walking around could give a spine-tingling high. He hadn't actually had anything like it in years, and even then it was always sparingly.

The sensation was more linked to a hunting instinct and was technically, though subtly, separate from the desire to consume. He could easily have a veggie substitute and the aromas around him would still leave him satisfied. He had once embraced being a fox because the world could not see him as anything else. He had forgotten that recently and it had dire consequences. He was something else too and maybe it was time to start embracing that, as well. _I am a predator._

"Yeah, I'll have the D'ator burger," Nick said decisively.

Finnick cocked an eyebrow at him and then made his own order.

When the server left Nick leaned in and spoke a little quieter, "So you said you saw that report, then?"

"About how we're all liable to pop any second now? Yeah, I saw it."

"I haven't really been following it, have you seen anything else?" Nick queried.

"You mean you don't know about the two attacks?" Finnick asked with shocked seriousness.

That fear panged at Nick again. "What attacks?"

"There was another attack like an hour after the announcement. In the train station. Then another this morning at that clinic on Vine." Finnick looked more serious than he normally was. "You really didn't hear about it?"

Nick shook his head with a wide-eyed look of confusion and shrugged.

"It was a white wolf at the train station, there was some shaky cell vids of it. It was pretty bad, Nick." Finnick said gravely.

Nick could sense a little bit of fear coming off the fennec as he spoke which both relieved him to have agreement on the matter and terrified him as he thought of the types of things that scared Finnick, of all mammals.

"Did anyone…" Nick let the question trail off.

"I dunno, probably. One at the clinic I think did, it was a lion and in a confined space like that... How don't you know anything? Wasn't that bitch rabbit the one you went off with?"

Nick had a lot of conflicting emotions tied to that last question but they were evenly matched enough to force a stalemate and allow him to continue on. "She just wanted to know about Emmet. I took her to that _Oasis_ place he likes to go to…"

Finnick interrupted with laughter, "Makers above, you and the whole _naturalist_ thing!"

"Shuddup, you like it too. For more reasons than one, I might add," Nick returned the barb with a sly, knowing grin.

"Kiss my ass, Wilde," Finnick managed to choke out between bouts of laughter. He was just starting to get himself under control when he asked, "So what else did you do?"

"Well, it turns out that Emmet is Mr. Big's florist!" Nick finished with laughter of his own and a nearly genuine smile.

"You serious?" Finnick asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, serious. Who knew? So we went to his house to ask about him." It was only a partial lie.

"You took a cop to Mr. Big's?! You really are an idiot!" Finnick was still laughing under all his words.

"No, he was cool about it!" Nick said excitedly. He proceeded to describe some of the events of the evening; he played up parts that made him look good and left out parts that didn't. He hardly mentioned the rabbit that had been with him.

Nick had just finished describing the intricacies of shrew wedding receptions and the best ways to eat small cakes when their food arrived. He had not eaten meat in quite a few years now and he had rarely had it at all through most of the life he could remember. The vegetarian lifestyle was something that was important to his father and after his passing, his mother did her best to raise Nick with the habit. He had never really appreciated it outright but over the years he had heard stories about his father from others and the trait was often a fact brought forward as evidence of what a good fox John was.

One of the books that Nick had found in the warehouse office had some very compelling reasons for the lifestyle. On the surface they were nonsense philosophies and idealistic tropes, but he had read it not as informational material, but as if it was something that John, had he been alive, would have told Nick himself. This had made the lessons stick a little more and it was the only part of his entire life that he thought John might actually have been proud of.

But John wasn't here anymore. Nick had only done so well at surviving because he embraced what he was. He was the fox they expected him to be, and tonight he would be the predator they expected as well.

It smelled _right_. He picked up the alligator burger and took a bite as the juices from the rare slab dripped on his paws and ran down his chops. His canine teeth had been designed specifically for ripping apart meat and felt _right_ for them to exercise that purpose. He really was starving; his body had been through quite the number of trials since he had last eaten.

"You want me to see if they can clear out the back room for you two?" Finnick was staring at Nick as he ravaged the sandwich.

Nick pulled himself away for a moment to look up at the fennec. He swallowed and wiped his muzzle. "Maybe," he said with a delighted groan. "I haven't had anything like this in _years_ ," he gushed before immediately taking another bite.

"Yeah, what's with that? Why the sudden change of heart?" Finnick asked.

Nick swallowed another bite, the gator slab was almost gone now. "We're predators, Fin. We're supposed to eat meat, right?" Even as he said it his stomach gave a small gurgle of dissent. His senses of taste, smell, sight and the feeling of his teeth were all satisfied, but the part of him that actually had to do the work, his stomach, was used to plant matter and wasn't quite sold on the decision he'd made.

"Did something happen to you, Nick? I've never seen you like this," Finnick asked, a little concerned. They both, in their own way, cared for each other. It was more an unspoken understanding of the hardships of being a fox than anything else, but over the years they had become, more or less, comfortable constants in each other's life. There was a limit, though, and what ailed Nick was far more than what Finnick would be able to handle. Talking to him about it would accomplish nothing.

"Nothing happened. I'm fine. Honest," Nick said as he guiltily took another bite. His stomach was protesting more under the strain of processing so much meat and the question was beginning to put pressure on his thin mental defenses.

"Nothing happened, right. Okay, let's see here: last I see you, some cop has you dead to rights, you don't answer your phone for three days, you look like you haven't slept in a week, you show up with bloody knuckles, and now you have a craving for meat just because you suddenly realized you were a predator and not a vegetarian. So seriously, did somethin' happened? Did those cops do somethin' to you?" Finnick inquired with apprehension at the possible answer.

Nick put the rest of his food down; he was suddenly not hungry at all. He wiped his muzzle and tried to force himself to keep it together. It was getting warm in here and his stomach was starting to make up its mind about his menu choice while his nose was reconsidering its earlier excitement. "I told you Fin, after the wedding I went back home and took a few days off."

Finnick leaned back and shook his head in disappointment at the obvious lie. "Yeah, alright. Whatever you say, _Officer Wilde_ ," he said dismissively.

Nick's eyes would always be the first to betray him. This had been a mistake. He had miscalculated. He hadn't been ready to face the world yet… _you'd actually make a pretty good cop…_ He only had seconds before this whole charade collapsed. _Not here! Not here! You cannot do this here!_ He had to get out of here.He looked down to pull his phone out. "Hold on a sec, gotta' take this," but he said it just a little too frantically. He should not have eaten so much meat, he should not have eaten it at all.

The phone was up to his ear as he made his way to the door. There were too many mammals in the way, he wasn't going to make it. "Hello?" he faked to the inactive cell. He was close to the door now. "Yeah, yeah." Making it outside, the cool air helped, but it wasn't going to be enough. He made it around back… _it would be nice to have a partner_ …The barrier finally fell and he convulsed as his stomach violently cleared itself.

His breath and heart were racing. _I am a fox. I have always been a fox…you are so much more than that…I will always be a fox. I can't be anything else._ _I am a fox._ He repeated to himself the truths of his life as he slowly came back from the brink. When his breathing returned to a more normal cadence he looked up to realize that the aluminum siding he was steadying himself against now had jagged indentations that matched his claws.

He hadn't been crying but the event had still made his eyes water. He tried to fluff up the fur under them the best he could and then made a careful effort to make sure his muzzle was free of any remnants. He turned to look at the bog and the freshly-risen full moon. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths; in through the snout, out through the muzzle.

 _I am a fox. I have always been a fox. I will always be a fox. I am not anything else. Never let them see that they get to you._

With his walls patched up, he put on a smile he didn't feel and went back inside.

"Important call, Nick?" Finnick asked mockingly.

"Oh yeah, that was my agent. Got a lot of big movies comin' up," Nick said sardonically.

"Yeah, right. Well, you might want to clean off that muzzle first, pal." Finnick touched his own face, just below his chops.

Nick wiped at his own and came away with a small bit of something he'd missed. Finnick was about as sharp as he was and they both knew the other had demons, but those topics had always been respectfully ignored. Finnick wouldn't ask why the nickname had done that to him and he wouldn't say it again.

Nick took a deep breath and collected himself once more. He looked around to see if anyone was listening and then leaned in with a lower voice, "Fin, I don't think these attacks are going to stop."

"What do you mean?" Finnick asked as he narrowed his eyes.

"I mean I think it's going to keep happening." Nick tried to keep the worry out of his voice.

"Do you know something?" Finnick asked earnestly.

"No, but they don't either," Nick said flatly.

"How do you know that?" Finnick questioned.

"It doesn't matter. But what they said on the news, that it was _biological_ , they are just guessing, but that won't matter," Nick stated bluntly.

"What are you talkin' about, Nick?" Finnick looked at him quizzically.

"What do you think is gonna' happen to preds if the attacks keep happening and the only reason they can come up with is that we are just wired to lose it every now and then?" Nick asked in an attempt to get him to follow the same logic trail he was on.

Finnick was quiet as he looked down at his plate and his face went through a series of scowls while he independently tried to reach the same conclusion. When he did, he looked up. "Seriously Nick, do you know something?"

"Nothing that can help, but I think I have a plan," Nick replied with a bit of dark hope in his voice.

Nick discussed the plan that had been brewing in his mind since earlier that afternoon. The long-term prospects were unknowable but in the short-term it was likely that the situation for predators in general was going to take a pretty quick turn for the worse.

Many years ago they had decided on the pawpsicle hustle for its safety and simplicity. With tensions likely to start running hot around the city, moving into other types of jobs would be even more risky, but if panic was going to start gripping the public, the days of selling pawpsicles might be coming to an end.

The solution was obvious; they needed to get more money out of what they were already doing and try to build up a stash to weather the storm. How long that storm was going to last was anyone's guess, but it was easy to conclude that it would hit predators the hardest, and there was every reason to believe foxes would be near the front of that line.

The plan was simple; they would just run the normal hustle, but this time cut the juice with water and increase the price. Nick calculated that with just three parts juice and one part water, along with a one buck increase in price, they could double their take. Maybe mammals would catch on, maybe some of the regulars wouldn't take the new price, but there were a lot of mammals in this city, and they had made a decent reputation for themselves. This could very well ruin that reputation, but Nick wagered they had enough to make it through what he, and now Finnick, believed was coming.

…

Finnick had driven him back home after their strategy session. He was feeling pretty weak as he entered his apartment. It was coming up on two days since he had last eaten _and_ digested anything, and he wasn't sure he'd had many fluids since then, either. He drank several glasses from the sink and slowly ate a few crackers. It was all he was confident he could keep down. His abs were going to be sore in the morning; he could already feel them tightening uncomfortably.

As he lay in his bed he used his phone to browse to ZNN's website and check out the headlines. There was a new alert: [Savage Raccoon Still at Large in Savannah Central]. He locked the screen realizing what a mistake that had been.

He hadn't been afraid in a very long timebut his revelation of what the future might hold had his survival instinct kicked into high gear. He had always trusted it in the past and it had always served him well to do so.

 _I am a fox. I am a predator. I am a survivor. I always have been. I always will be._

He kept repeating those words in his head as sleep took him under. He wasn't sure he believed in them yet but they were his truth nonetheless, and his survival depended on accepting that.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

Hey Preds! WildeNick here! Thank you for reading this far (or at least scrolling this far), it really means a lot to me!

' _Simul_ _Consurgant_ '. This is a Latin phrase that literally translates to English as 'The Rise' but its emotional connotation in the original Latin is supposed to imply a 'simultaneous togetherness' so I am meaning it here to be translated as "We rose together at the same time" (Am I a linguist? No. No I am not...). As we humans are fascinated with our own origins, the mammals of Zootopia are likely fascinated with theirs. We still are not positive what triggered sentience in us and we are just a single species. For the entire mammal kingdom to have achieved that at-the-same-time, their scientists would be faced with an infinitely greater mystery. Whether the _Simul_ _Consurgant_ was a natural event or something more, it still happened and this is their (my) name for it. This was just a passing reference to justify Nick's actions in that scene but I really do enjoy all the functional _mechanics_ of Zootopia and I absolutely love pushing the _Zootopian science_ topic to its limits in thought experiments and in the excessively profound conversations I have shared with my professor of Zootopian Studies, Dr. eng050599.

In the movie, Byron and Rich gave us a three minute montage of sad Judy between Nick walking out and her finding him at the bridge and apparently that was supposed to represent three months. That never sat well with me. I understand that the audience needed to see that she realized what a mistake she had made, but her hurt was just that; self-inflicted. Nick's hurt however, was not by his own paw and was far more intense than Judy's. In addition to the emotional pain I know he suffered, as Zootopia became 'the city griped by fear' he was likely in some pretty real danger as well. Both of these afflictions were (arguably) caused by her.

Like I said, we all know how this story ends, but like Nick, let's go through the logic of how it gets there.


	3. Still a Fox

…

Day 2

…

[znn com/breaking-alerts/rss/]

-Savage Raccoon Contained: 2 Critically Injured

-Bellwether Declared Acting Mayor by City Council

-Zootopia General Hospital Sets Up 'Savage Ward'

…

Even having been prepared for it, it still shocked Nick how much his abs hurt today. Beneath those his stomach was growling quite loudly and it may even have been what roused him in the first place. By all accounts, throwing up twice in one day had proven to be a poor life strategy. While his chest was in complete objection to any movement at all, his hunger was laying out a solid case for attempting the struggle anyways.

His hind pads found the floor and he grunted. Wrapping his arms around his midsection, he clutched himself all the way to the kitchen. He set the oven to broil and found some bagels in a cabinet. He grabbed one and was about to twist the bag shut when he decided to grab another. After slicing them both he placed the four halves directly on the oven racks.

He grabbed some orange marmalade from the fridge, set it on the counter, and then frowned at the oven. The slices had been in there for all of thirty seconds and the oven had only been heating up for about a minute. He opened it back up and grabbed one of the halves. He spread the topping and ate it greedily. The process repeated three more times with the only difference being the slightly increasing level of crisp each slice had. As he turned off the oven his stomach gurgled again, but not in the bad way that it had last night.

With his more immediate needs satiated, he was in a better position to evaluate himself. His body hurt a lot more today. The soreness through his abdomen and in his paw stood as the physical remnants of what his emotional state had done to him. Eventually those bodily wounds would heal and the pain there would be gone. His mind, he feared, might be a different story.

It seemed that, while once again, sleep had failed to lessen the burden he felt, it had granted him more strength to keep those feelings in check. The last thirty-six hours had consisted of some pretty heavy hits to his understanding of himself and the life he was living. Those revelations had jarred him to his core, but they would only be able to surprise him once. With the initial shock of those injuries behind him, he now only had to deal with the _bruising_ they left behind. Eventually he would get used to it and, whether it healed or not, eventually he would be able to ignore it. That's how it had worked the first time. It had been anything but easy but he now at least had the benefit of knowing it was possible.

Talking with Finnick and having a plan to follow was keeping his mind stable by giving him something to stay focused on. That focus would keep memory and self-pity from rising too far to the surface which would hopefully let him make it through the day without another breakdown.

Nick went back to lie on his bed and used his phone to download the 'ZNN' app. He had never really been much of a current events fox, but he felt he should start staying better informed. His survival instinct told him that if things were going the way he thought they would, they were going to go there fast. This might be the only shot he had at being ahead of the curve.

The app pinged almost immediately and he resisted the urge to close it before reading it. While his original depression was debilitating, this new fear was motivating. He was still smart and quick, and he knew that for any good plan to work, he was going to need as much information and motivation as possible.

[ZNN BREAKING ALERT: Leopard Mauls Two]

…

There was an alley in one of the quieter parts of the border between Savannah Central and the Rainforest District. It was one of many such anonymous spots in which Finnick could park without attracting any undue attention. Finnick and every possession he owned lived in that van. Nick had once made an offer to be roommates but Finnick had vehemently opposed the idea. Nick respected Finnick's demons too, and never asked or made serious mention again of the fennec's living standards or apparent fear of setting down roots.

Nick knocked on the back door of the van.

"Who the fuck is it?" Finnick growled out from inside.

Ordinarily, Nick would've had about a dozen witty responses on paw to answer his friend with, but today, he just wasn't in the mood, so he simply replied with, "Who do you think it is, ya' dumb fox?" He took a step back as he said it, knowing what was going to happen next.

The door flung open fast, revealing a scowling Finnick. Even with the extra height of the van, Finnick only stood taller than Nick because of his oversized ears. The fennec fox was sporting a black Canid the Barbarian t-shirt and jeans, with his aviators tucked into the shirt's collar. He was also wielding his favorite baseball bat, resting it casually against his shoulder.

"You ever actually use that thing?" Nick asked, skeptically regarding the bat the fennec was wielding.

Finnick looked at the bat and rubbed a spot near the top and smiled at it. It was splotched with a light red stain.

Nick laughed uproariously at him as he opened the other door and leapt inside. He knew that splotch was from a few months ago when Finnick had accidentally dumped over one of the jars of pawpsicle juice, forever marking both the bat, and the floor of his van.

As Nick climbed into the front passenger seat he realized that that had been the first time he had genuinely laughed in what seemed like ages. The spontaneity of it caught him off guard and strengthened his outlook on the day ahead.

Finnick climbed atop the pile of books in the driver's seat and the two foxes began running over the plan for the day. After what happened on their last hustle, _Jumbeaux's Café_ was probably going to be a pretty safe bet for jumbo-pops for quite a while. Cognitive dissonance had been the default setting in Nick's mind for many years now, but remembering that it _was_ a safe bet without remembering _why_ it was a safe bet was still taking up a tremendous amount of his mental resources.

Their normal shtick for years had been to use a proxy for the jumbo-pop purchase. Harry Wallows had been a young hippo of ten when they first met him. The deal they'd worked out had been simple and relatively cheap; thirty bucks bought two pops, one for Harry, and one for them.

Every now and then something would come up and the hippo wouldn't be able to make it. On those occasions Finnick would don his elephant costume and they'd convince some other patron of their woes. That routine, while cheaper, took a lot longer, and time was money. After funding so much of Harry's formative years, the hippo had left for college recently, leaving Nick and Finnick in need of a new strategy.

Over the last few weeks they had been experimenting at different shops with different backstories. Sometimes Finnick was Nick's recently adopted orphan, sometimes his species-non-binary kit, and sometimes just his son dressed for a costume party. They had been locking in on a few of the more promising variations of the performance, but they all still took a lot longer to execute than just being able to buy the popsicles outright as they now hoped to do at _Jumbeaux's._

They stepped up to the counter. Nick's smile and demeanor were as much a costume as the literal one Finnick was wearing. "One jumbo-pop, please."

The attendant, recognizing the pair, groaned out, "Fifteen dollars."

It seemed the only hassle they would receive today was dirty looks from the other customers. As Nick handed the elephant the money an authentic grin replaced his pretend one as he noticed the gloved trunk reaching into the cooler. The bluff of a health inspector would keep them on their stubby toes for at least the next few weeks. By then, perhaps the fox pair would be established regulars and never be troubled with refused service again.

With the hardest part out of the way, they began their normal routine.

First it was off to Sahara Square for the melting process. Beyond the money at the end of the day, this was Nick's favorite part since it allowed him a full thirty minutes of sunning himself on a roof. If there was ever a day that he needed that type of relaxation it was today, and he enjoyed every second of it in empty thought.

Next it was off to get the pawpsicle sticks. This part of the hustle had always been Finnick's baby and he had raised it beautifully. Fifteen years ago running deliveries between _Best Dam Lumber Co._ and Little Rodentia had just been an odd job for him, but after the idea for the pawpsicle hustle, it became the perfect opportunity for exploitation. The lumber still always made it to its intended destination but not before it had delivered pawpsicles into the mouths of parched mammals.

Nick had once read a report of increased ant activity in the district but with the tiny crumbs mice always seemed to leave behind, it was difficult to ascribe any specific cause to that particular effect.

As they made their way to Tundra Town, Nick verbally noted they were running about an hour ahead of their normal schedule. Finnick only gave a nod in response. The quietness of the ride was not out of the ordinary but with nothing else to direct his attention his thoughts were left to wander. Knowing the potential dangers that posed, Nick pulled out his phone. He knew what he would likely find there but instinct steeled him to marshal forward.

[ZNN BREAKING ALERT: Outback Island: Five Critical, Assailant Still at Large]

Nick locked the screen and put it back in his pocket. An echo of fright rumbled through his mind as he couldn't help but think of the victims.

He didn't have to imagine what they felt, he could remember it from his own experience just three nights ago. The visceral heart-pounding rush of adrenalin, the cold wetness of the rain, and the feeling of hot breath from the vicious growls; he had never been so scared. But as those savage green eyes bore down on him, there had been another feeling there too, one that rivaled and overpowered the terror he felt. That feeling had caused him to abandon his last chance for escape on the sky-car, and stay for something that, at the time, seemed far more important than his own life. That malformed intention had left him with his back up against a thousand foot drop and only John's tie between him and fanged death.

 _Maybe I am a dumb fox._

Even as he thought it, another echo of feeling, this time the one that caused him to stay, shook the walls he had up. He tried to stifle it but a small crack formed anyway and a memory leaked through… _You saved me…_ He rolled down the window and stuck out his paw to ride the air current. He hoped the excess air flow would be able to dry the excess moisture now forming in his eyes.

…

"What's with the price increase?" The lead lemming, unprepared for the change in procedure, had come to a complete stop. This, in turn, caused the orderly ballet of the _Lemming Brothers_ end-of-day departure to come to a screeching halt. Before Nick could even answer, a pile-up of lemmings behind his interrogator was starting to form.

"C'mon, Allen, you're telling me a banker doesn't understand the concept of inflation?" Nick responded with cool sarcasm. "Now, do you want the pawp or not?"

Allen, only minimally impressed that the fox had remembered his name, reached into his pocket and pulled out an extra single. At this point the lemming pile-up had reached the door and as Nick handed his patron the pawpsicle, the turnstile became jammed as it knocked over several of the stalled creatures.

The chaos this led to did have the unexpected side effect of piquing the interest of several mammals walking nearby. Even on his worst day, Nick was still the best salesfox in Zootopia and he had no trouble converting the pedestrians into purchasers. It was a lucky break too, since there were thirty-three percent more of the watered down pawpsicles to sell today.

…

While Finnick drove them to Little Rodentia, Nick quietly smiled to himself as he counted the bills. They hadn't even delivered the lumber yet and they already had nearly eight-hundred bucks for the day. They should have thought of this years ago. The extra inventory hadn't taken that much longer to sell and the price increase got some grumbles, but everyone still paid. There wasn't even a single mention of the weaker blend they'd used. He'd forgotten how good at this he was.

 _This is what I am good at. This is who I am. I am a sly fox. I have always been. I will always be. I am a fox._

As his old personality was attempting to reassert itself, his pocket vibrated and snapped it back down. The vibration was generic and could have represented any number of possible events. It could have been an email, a text message or even his battery getting low, but his instincts knew it was none of those things. He pulled it out and unlocked the screen.

[ZNN BREAKING ALERT: Puma Terrorizes Diners at 53rd and Falls Ave]

The alert had initially sent him back into melancholy but upon realizing that it was the third attack for the day, the feeling began to morph into something that he struggled to identify. It wasn't more fear, he already had that. It was more a dull and unformed anger. It wasn't directed at anything in particular, it was just _there_.

He powered off the device and slid it back into his pocket; Finnick was the only one who ever called him on it, anyways. As he did, his paw pad once again touched the red Ranger Scout neckerchief and upon doing so, something briefly rippled through the cloud of undirected anger. It was not enough to give the feeling a proper direction yet, but it seemed somewhat more orderly than it had a moment before.

…

Finnick stopped the van in front of 'The Groves'. Nick divided up the take, four-hundred fifty for each of them, and handed Finnick his stack.

"You're saving that, right?" Nick asked in an oddly serious tone as he stared at the stack in his own paw.

"You my banker now?" Finnick snapped back defensively.

"I'm serious, Fin," Nick responded sternly.

Finnick scowled at him. They weren't normally ones to share life advice with each other, but his defense was more reflex than anything else.

Nick wasn't in the mood to fight him on it. His mind had strained all day under the load of holding itself together and it had been exhausting. He shook his head and got out of the van.

…

While Nick showered, ate, and readied himself for bed, his mind ran through a review of his day. By all measures it had been a success; he got the money and he didn't throw up again. He had run through all the motions of his old life but it still didn't _feel_ right. He wasn't actually sure he even remembered what it was supposed to feel like. It had only been five days ago that everything was _normal_. Now though, it felt more like that had been five lifetimes ago.

Maybe it had been the familiarity of the day or his brain was just running out of the chemicals needed for misery, but the pain that seemed like it would never leave him this morning was subsiding quite rapidly now. It seemed the automated coping mechanisms in his mind were still working, after all; this incident had just been a little more than they were used to handling. Now that it seemed the torture had an end in sight, he found himself confused as to whether it was right for him to not have to endure it anymore.

There had been a reason it hurt so badly. He could still remember all the revelations of the past few days, and the reasons why he felt the way he did; he had lost things, things that had been important to him. Looking back on them now, his loneliness in the past, the missed opportunities of the future, the fleeting companionship he'd shared with Judy, none of it evoked the same crushing sorrow in him as before. Even using her actual name was bearable now. He hadn't thought of _her_ as anything more than a pronoun in over two days.

He had been working so hard to remind himself that he was just a fox. That he always had been and he always would be. He wanted to believe that, if only to make the pain stop, but now that it seemingly had, he wasn't sure the belief had actually sunk in. As the pain receded, nothing was filling in the void behind it, leaving only emptiness in its wake. His last link to the things he had lost was that pain, and now he was losing that, too.

He realized that this thought process was recursive and would lead him nowhere. The agony had stopped; that's all he had wanted and he should be satisfied with it. His mind had learned to do these tricks to keep him safe and moving forward all these years. Fighting it or overanalyzing it with no real purpose could only lead to bad outcomes.

 _She is not coming back for me. I am a fox. I have always been a fox. I will always be a fox. I am a survivor. I am a predator. I am a fox. I am nothing else. I never have been. I never will be._

As Nick lay in bed reflecting on his personal truths, he remembered how it felt earlier today when his old persona had emerged for just a few seconds. Now, with only numbness to compete with, maybe tomorrow it could take better hold of him.

Curled up in the dark quiet, he had only his tail and his emptiness for company. As sleep neared, he sensed that maybe there was something else, too. Something else here with him in the stillness. It wasn't the fear of an unknown future danger that his instincts kept humming in the background; that was distinct and he knew what it was. This was something else, and while it had no form, its presence was still somehow familiar. It was that shapeless anger he had felt earlier in the day. He could neither define the origin point it had come from nor the target it was directed at. It was subtle for now, but it did seem to have grown ever so slightly since he had first noticed it. But with his mind spent, he simply did not have the energy to dwell on it further and he passed into a deep and dreamless sleep.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

Hey preds! Thanks for your continued readership!

Fox Fact #1: I read on Wikipedia once that urban foxes in London are often seen on rooftops sunning themselves. So Nick's enjoyment of that here is accurate. Also seeing a fox sunning himself on a roof is adorable!

Special thank you to everyone that wrote a review or sent me PMs. I read them all carefully and appreciate every word.

VERY SPECIAL thanks to eng050599 and Highwing for helping edit this!


	4. Horse Race

...

Day 3

...

Dawn Bellwether looked down at the city below. Her new office, the office of the mayor, the mayor of Zootopia, looked over everything. She could see out to the marshlands, Outback Island, and could even make out the blues of Animalia Arena.

That stadium had been designed to look like the splash of a water droplet. She giggled at how silly that was; one couldn't possibly appreciate that design from anywhere but here in this office. Only from here did the angles and scale line up to give the true impression that it really was a frozen splash of water, coming up from the harbor beyond. It was as though it had been designed specifically for her enjoyment alone.

There was a knock at the door and without turning around to look at it she called out, "Come in!"

Council-mammal Kyle Hayworth stepped inside. As the door swung shut behind him, the Clydesdale made his way to the glass wall at the rear of the room. Without looking at his host he took an even stance with his arms crossed behind his back and joined in her surveillance of the city.

"It's all ours now, Kyle," Bellwether said matter-of-factly.

Slowly a wide and perfectly toothed grin slid over Hayworth's face. The pair finally broke their gaze over the cityscape and looked at each other. "So what are we going to do with it?" his deep voice drawled.

Bellwether smiled back, giving him a few seconds to revel in the moment. She then pointed over to the desk and said, "Have a seat, Kyle." He bowed slightly in acknowledgement and they each walked to their respective seats.

Bellwether couldn't help but smile at the horse she had groomed herself. His sharp angular features and the patterning of his face were in perfect symmetry. A paper white nose contrasted the luster of his rich, dark coat and flowing mane. Kyle wasn't even close to her species, but having all those traits attached to such a powerful and imposing body painted an image that endeavored to reach a universal standard of beauty. Not just a pretty face, though; he had a charisma and charm to match. In short, he was a stud.

He was a young buck, currently only twenty-seven, but his hunger for power matched his vitality. That had been obvious to her four years ago when she was sitting in the council seat he now occupied. At the time, she knew she needed to move up the ranks, but she wasn't about to let the prey-predator mix of the council slip any further to those chompers. She had scoured through the candidates list, looking for anyone she could use. Her best hopes had been to find a placeholder; an anonymous prey that would hold back the tide and give her time to maneuver other pieces into position. She never imagined she would find a mammal like Kyle.

The purity of his pedigree was unmatched and he had some of the best education that money could buy. Once out of university, he had been immediately hired by Zootopia's most prestigious legal firm. But he had only ever meant that to be a stepping stone; his true aspirations were for politics, and the power that came with it. The potential of finding someone who was more than just a reliable voting pattern was irresistible to her.

On a hopeful hunch, she had used her ZPD connections to do a more detailed background check on him. The sealed record that came back to her was nothing short of spectacular.

Early in his university days, Kyle had been drunk at a bar with his pulling team. That night had ended with Kyle in cuffs and a grey wolf in critical condition. With a single savage southpaw jab, Kyle had shattered the wolf's mandible, collapsed his nose and knocked out three fangs completely. While the wolf would be using straws for the rest of his life, the considerable power of the Hayworth legal defense ensured that Kyle never needed to think of it again. That was until she confronted him with the file.

His initial reaction had been as she had hoped: _anger_. Even then, she had already begun to weary of the cowering herd mentality she so often had to deal with, and having someone this decisive and independent was extremely refreshing. She liked the ruthless style Kyle exhibited and made him an offer on the spot: If he liked knocking down predators, she would line them up in droves for him.

And so their relationship began. With her endorsement and just a few hundred stuffed ballots, he was in. Over the intervening years she used her new position as assistant mayor to get him everything he ever needed. His rival council members frequently found their paperwork lost or delayed while he often found himself with privileged information and his name on nearly every community outreach program and public works project in the city. Most mammals had no idea who their city officials were, but almost all of them had heard of Kyle Hayworth.

Today was the day that she could finally start capitalizing on this investment. He was a good deal smarter than the sheep she normally dealt with, and he was well aware that his continued rise was inexorably linked to her own. He was much less a pawn and more a knight errant; someone she could count on to make the right moves without direct supervision. While this would be his biggest test yet, she had no doubt that her steed could pull though.

Bellwether pulled herself out the drunkenness her accomplishments had her in. Now wasn't the time for ruminating on past deeds, there was just too much left to be done.

She reached for a keypad on one of the desk drawers and tapped in an eight-digit code. The drawer whirred and groaned as five one-inch steel locking bolts retracted to release the compartment. When it finished, the drawer opened under its own power and she removed a manila folder. She ignored the bright red one that had been beneath it, and slid the drawer back closed.

"I have some talking points I need you to start pushing," she said cheerfully as she slid him the file.

Nearly all equines required prosthetic attachments to give them even the barest shadow of the dexterity so many of their peer species took for granted. As Hayworth pulled the folder towards him, Bellwether was once again impressed with how effortlessly he commanded his. The model he used was so low profile one would hardly even notice it was there, except for the fact that it rimmed his entire hoof with a stylish gold trim. With the grace of a symphony conductor he tapped the edge of it to the desk and a small golden comb lifted up to be perpendicular with the hoof. By articulating his wrist just right, he could grasp at and manipulate the paper by sliding it between the comb's teeth.

He flipped through several pages and when he was finished he looked up at her. "Interesting play for the opening round, Dawn," he said quizzically.

"It's only the opening round if you weren't paying attention, Kyle," she smiled at him with a slyness that betrayed her fluffy wool.

"What if it doesn't work? This one will be hard for me to pull back on." His drawl remained even and calm; he wasn't worried she didn't have an answer, he was just curious what it was.

"Did you know that most mammals are sheep, Kyle?" Bellwether asked in a devilishly cheerful tone. He shook his head no and she relaxed in her seat before continuing on. "They think that they are all different species, but they are not. They are all sheep. I should know that better than anyone." She let out a short giggle. "There are two ways to direct sheep. Sometimes you lead them, and sometimes you herd them. I've already taken care of the herding part." She let out a longer, more maniacal chuckle. "The only thing they're missing now is a strong leader to drag them over the edge."

"And you want me to be that leader?"

"How does Mayor Hayworth sound to you?" She held a wide smile at him.

"I don't know how I feel about being the first one over the cliff." He smiled back with a sarcastic note in his voice.

"Well," she said scandalously, "you don't need to take the metaphor quite so seriously, Kyle," she grinned back at him. "The election is in four months; you need to start building support as soon as possible."

"And where exactly are you going to go?"

She let out another uncontrolled cackle of self-delight and smiled up at him. "Don't you know? There is _another_ election in eight months."

Kyle neighed and snorted in delight back at her. When he reacquired his composure, he shook his mane out of his eyes and looked back at her with a wide grin. "Senator Bellwether and Mayor Hayworth. You know, I do like the sound of that."

"Good. Then you have a press circuit to prep for."

Kyle stood up, ready to follow his new orders, and bowed deeply to her. The act warmed the ears under her wool and reinforced her smile.

As he turned to walk out she called out after him, "And Kyle!" As he stopped and turned back to look at her with a questioning gaze, his hoof resting on the door's handle, she smiled and finished, "Don't go easy on me."

He shook his head in laughter once more and said, "Have you ever known me to hold back?" before opening the door and walking out, closing it shut behind him.

…

[znn com/politics/kyle-hayworth-mayoral-candidacy-announcement/]

:Kyle Hayworth Mayoral Candidacy Announcement (transcript)

"Hello, my fellow mammals. I come to you now, during what is undoubtedly our most troubled time in Zootopia's long and storied history. I know a lot of you out there are scared and confused. I also know you have no need for rhetoric or false promises. So I am going to be upfront with you because there just isn't time for playing politics as usual.

"In short, I am officially announcing my candidacy for Mayor of Zootopia. I know this may not seem like an appropriate time for an announcement like this, but rest assured, I will not be running a traditional race. I am still your city council-mammal and I will not allow this to interfere with the important work I am doing there. I will not be hiring campaign staff, or accepting donations, or even running ads. The stakes are too high to waste time like that.

"So now that you know what I will not be doing, let me tell you what I _will_ be doing. Just as it has been my honor to serve you these last four years, I am going to continue working every day for you in city council. This city doesn't need more politicians, it need more doers. It needs mammals who will work tirelessly for you every day with no distractions.

"Just look where those political distractions and corruptions have left us. Zootopia deserves better. Better than a cowering acting mayor, who after ten attacks has yet to address the mammals of this city publicly. Better than her scandalous predecessor who led us here. Better than the fear you all now feel. You deserve better.

"You deserve to be spoken to honestly. You deserve to feel safe to walk our streets. You deserve a strong leader you can trust and who won't back down from the tough challenges ahead. You deserve someone who believes in this city.

"I have loved this city all my life and it brings me great sadness to see what it has become in such a short amount of time. Our economy is slipping, our resources are strained, and I know each of you wakes up every morning and asks yourself the same question I do: will these attacks ever stop?

"We can't wait four months for strong leadership, we need it now. That is why instead of running a campaign, I will be spending every second of the next few months working to push initiatives and ordinances that will bring solutions to our city. Solutions that we can't wait four months for. Solutions to our wavering economy, solutions to our growing division, and solutions to the fear we all feel.

"You don't deserve that fear. Fear was never a part of the Zootopia I grew up in. With your support we can end that fear and bring back the peace of mind we all remember. We can bring back Zootopia stronger and better and more united than ever before. A Zootopia where no one has to be afraid.

"This is not about us versus them. Together we have always been stronger and together we will find the solutions to the problems we all face. Zootopia is not a city of fear. It is a city of hope and opportunity and I will not let my current position limit me from ensuring that it stays that way.

"Since it seems our current and unelected leader has no interest in talking to you, I want to assure you that I will be doing everything I can to change that. Each of you deserves to know what is being done to protect you and each of you deserves to know that someone out there cares about you.

"To keep that promise, I will be making several appearances over the next few weeks to give updates on the situation and to give you information about the initiatives city council will soon be implementing.

"Thank you for your time Zootopia. Stay safe, stay vigilant, and stay strong. Good night.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

As always, thank you for your readership!

Let's all just sit back and think for a second about how devastating it would be for a wolf to get punched in the muzzle by a freaking Clydesdale.

That is the type of mammal Kyle is, don't ever forget that.

Also, Clydesdales are, from my understanding, not easy to breed. So feel free to let your imagination mull over what type of values the Hayworth family has.

Fox Tip: Give all politicians their due scrutiny, but be extra vigilant with the ones reminding you of how much _fear_ you have.


	5. Fox Away

…

Day 4

…

[znn com/breaking-alerts/rss/]

-ZPD Chief of Police: "We Ask That You Stay Calm"

-1000s Gather in Protest at Sahara Square

-Zootopia General: Resources Strained

-By the Numbers: Record 6 Attacks Today, 16 Attacks Total, 24 Critical, 53 Wounded

-Markets Rocked: Sow Jones Down 5% in 3 Days

-Citizens Speak Out: "Silence From Mayor's Office is Deafening"

…

Day 5

…

Nick was baked through to his bones as he luxuriously sunned himself on the folding chair. The relaxing heat made the chill of his iced mocha even sweeter and the gentle breeze running through his fur had him so content, he was in real danger of dozing off. It was all so perfectly peaceful and calm.

' _Swish'_

' _Swish'_

' _Swish'_

Except for that. And also:

"Dammit Nick! Are you seriously not going to help me at all?!"

"I told you not to park there," Nick droned out in lazy disinterest.

Finnick mumbled something non-distinct and continued scrubbing.

During today's visit to Tundra Town, Finnick had struggled to find a parking space on the main street and he'd opted to leave the van in a nearby alleyway. The particular area of the icy district that they used had been in a slow, but steady decline for decades. This meant that, while it was a _shady_ place to be after sundown, it was merely a _quiet_ place to be during daylight; it was the perfect venue for pawp freezing.

Even so, Nick had tried to warn Finnick about the risks of leaving the van out of sight. When they returned to it a few hours later, Finnick's beloved rendition of the Canid the Barbarian _'Mourning Warrior'_ artworkcontained an additional _feature_. Finnick had been so furious he couldn't even speak, and Nick's I-told-you-so and comparisons to other modern art he'd seen recently did nothing to stay the fennec's rage.

Finnick's van was by no means the first thing in Zootopia to be marked by the _Fox Away_ brand logo. While the image had always been a favored fallback for preying delinquents, its appearance over the last three days had simply exploded. From nearly any vantage point in the city, one could look around and see at least two of the motifs.

They came in several sizes but each one seemed to be just a scaled version of the same stencil. The most popular locations were on street signs and billboards, but yesterday, the culprits somehow managed to tag the dark black pavement of Central Avenue with contrastingly bright white emblems that stretched the width of the street, and repeated evenly from 2nd all the way to 10th. Dealing with the aftermath of the now twenty-one savage attacks, city services had little capacity for anything as mundane as graffiti cleanup, and so the markings stayed.

The icon was also popular on many of the signs that found their way into the now daily protests. Protests against what, no one was quite sure and even the media had yet to give _it_ a proper name. At any rate, it was clear that foxes were now going to have the lucky distinction of being mascot for all predators during whatever _this_ was.

Ironically enough, with no two savages having yet been from the same species, none of them had yet hailed from _any_ of the many varieties of _Vulpes_.

The last three days had seen Nick's inner con-fox reawaken with an eagerness to make up for lost time, and it had not taken him long to identify the protests as the opportunities they were. Between the yelling and the summer heat, the gathered masses made the perfect untapped market for pawpsicle patrons. Their dehydration had even been enough to overcome the barriers of speciest division, and the pawps had sold as fast as Nick could hand them out.

Not wanting to give these _upstanding_ mammals anything but his best, today Nick had decided to further increase the water content of the pawps. Now at a two to one ratio, the ploy, after an initial fifteen dollar investment, had netted them just shy of twelve-hundred bucks. The feeling of that wad in his pocket was even more comforting than the heat of the sun on his face.

 _Someday, I'll just sell em' ice on a stick._

His breathing had slowed and his sensitive ears had nearly managed to tune out the fennec's scrubbing. A calming haze clouded his mind and the potentials surrounding the possibility of sleep increased rapidly.

The vicious growl left Nick's throat before he even registered the event that caused it.

Conscious thought attempted to pick up where blind reflex left off. With his muzzle creased, his teeth were bared in a malicious snarl, and his dark-tipped ears pointed resolutely behind him. His head had turned, apparently fast enough that his glasses had flown off, and his eyes were locked on Finnick with a tunneled focus that he hardly thought was possible.

As his cognition caught back up with the present, he realized the effect had been caused by something that hit his arm. It must have been a rag because he could now feel wet coolness in a location that matched the dull echo of pressure from the impact. From there, it was pretty easy to deduce that the projectile had come from the fox now glowering at him.

As quickly as his body would allow, he relaxed his features back into his trademark half-lidded grin and returned his ears to their full upright and relaxed position.

"Jerk," he said coolly, trying to play off his momentary fury.

Finnick continued to scowl back at him, which wasn't out of the ordinary on its own, but he also continued not responding, as well. His ears were slightly back and his eyes were just a little wider than normal, leaving his posture uncharacteristically lacking the confidence he usually worked so hard to project. Finnick had apparently been as startled by the growl as Nick was.

"Did ya' need something, or are you just working on your pitching arm?" Nick asked with a casual indifference he'd managed to regain full control of.

Finnick re-narrowed his eyes at him and grumbled back, "Get over here and help."

Nick looked past the fox and up at the door he was scrubbing. The mark he'd been hit with was nearly the height of the van, and while in most places, the black spray paint was either completely, or very nearly gone, a section at the top was still as dark as it had been when they first discovered it. The lowest point of the darker region was also, coincidentally, the approximate highest point Finnick could reach with his step ladder.

"What happened? Someone shorten your ladder?" Nick teased with a contemptuous smile.

"It's gonna' be a lot shorter after I hit you with it," Finnick retorted.

Nick let a full smirk form and turned his body back in the chair to resume his lounging.

"...I'll give you twenty from my take," Finnick said with a tone that Nick knew to be the fennec's version of desperation.

Nick considered it, and slowly stood up. He stretched out his delightfully warm arms and legs and took a step to pick up the glasses that had fallen off his face earlier. He put them on and sauntered towards the van.

"Forty," Nick said with a light pleasure in his voice, "On account of you throwing your dirty washrag at me and threatening to hit me with a ladder. Call it reparation for emotional damage inflicted." He grinned.

Finnick's posture had regained its standoffishness and while he grumbled again in response, he handed Nick a brush in acceptance of the counteroffer.

Nick stepped up on a crate and began making work of the graffiti. Control of his outward composure was now fully reclaimed, but his head still buzzed with the after-effects of the surge, and he reflected on the event as he continued to scrub.

It had been three days ago when a slight irritation began gnawing at the back of his mind. At first, it had been utterly dwarfed by the agony of seeing his life for what it truly was: _pointless_. Throughout that day, the drowning depths began to slowly recede, and by later that same evening, the emotions were departing so swiftly, that they'd clear-cut his ability to feel almost anything. He hadn't known whether the feelings were actually gone, or just suppressed in a deep corner of his mind, but with nothing left to distract him, he'd fallen asleep with only his instinctual fear of the future and this generalized resentment at nothing in particular.

The next morning he'd awoke in the pleasant relief of numbness. With previous mornings having been marked by unbearable anguish, the feeling of simple _nothingness_ was bliss by comparison. While he didn't have much of a choice, the possibility of being able to move forward with his life, without the accompanying misery of realizing its emptiness, was at least some consolation.

 _I am a fox._

There wasn't much of anything left to stand in the way of re-accepting his life for what it was; what it had always been, and what it would always be. He couldn't be trapped if he didn't care to leave, and when he awoke that morning, he'd felt pretty content in his renewed recognition of being a fox.

But part of being a fox, was that contentment rarely embraced him for long, and soon his phone had begun vibrating with updates. Throughout the day, breaking news alerts and _Fox Away_ logos had at first fueled his fear, but as their sudden pervasiveness quickly reduced the novelty of each occurrence, they began to feed his frustration instead.

Even the things that had never been unique to his life, such as the _looks_ other mammals gave him, or the _tone_ they used to address him, now caught his notice every time. Each event stoked his slowly rising fury, and each reminded him that the city had _always_ seen him as more than _just_ a fox.

 _I am a predator._

Over the last few days, that statement of fact had solidified into something he was actually starting to believe. While he wasn't exactly ready to embrace his newfound aggression, he wasn't exactly ready to reject it, either. He still couldn't specifically identify what he was angry at, and his apparent lack of full control left everyone and everything a potential target.

At first, he though it may have been just a ramped-up version of his cynical nature. The lenses he viewed life through had been clouded and scuffed by decades of hard knocks, but they'd never failed to let him see things for what they really were. Unwilling to be distracted by life's bright moments, he hardly ever missed the darker angles hiding in the glare. Some might have called it pessimistic, but he had thirty-two years of experience to prove that it was merely realistic.

Very recently, he had forgotten to check for those dark spots and it had almost cost him his sanity. It was possible that this new sensation was just his psyche overcompensating in an attempt to make sure he didn't forget again, but cynicism was passive; a perception, not a prescription. This new feeling wasn't that at all. This was something much more active and stimulating; this was something… _predatory_.

Yesterday, during the jumbo-pop procurement, he was bumped by the rhino standing in line behind him. Being jostled around by bigger creatures was par for the course of being a small mammal, and was essentially a guarantee when patronizing large mammal establishments. But in that particular moment, Nick's building wrath selected a mark.

It hadn't been a major event, and the offence had been small, but it triggered enough impulse for him to turn around and confront his assailant. He was just about to start in on a righteous diatribe when Finnick, having seen the rage flash across his face, let out some pretty enthusiastic toot-toots that broke Nick's instant of resolve, and let him re-stow his agitation.

Anger was the most obvious sign of something _getting to you,_ and it was one of the earliest emotions he'd learned to hide. Even under the surface, though, he'd never really been quick to the sentiment. With so many things in his life that he could have been angry at, how was he to choose one over the other? The feeling was of no value to him; it served no purpose of its own, and it tended to disrupt that of others. He'd always found it far more enriching to both his self-image, and his net worth, to hustle the ones that wronged him.

That, and other lessons, had come from embracing himself as a sly fox. Developing those skills had guided him down the only successful path he'd ever found to survive the world that was so cruel to his kind.

The event yesterday, and the one just a few moments ago, highlighted to him that he really needed to start taking a more direct role in controlling himself. If there had been benefit in learning to be the sly fox they all saw him as, there would likely be benefit in learning to be the aggressive predator, too.

Perhaps it was just that he was more focused on it now, or the unimaginable eleven attacks in the last forty-eight hours, or even the incredibly creative names he was called during the protests earlier today; regardless of if he learned to control the feeling, it was definitely going to continue to grow.

 _Maybe she was right. Maybe this is how it starts. Maybe next time someone bumps into me or throws a rag at me, I don't come out of it. Maybe the aggression just builds and builds and then, pop:_ _ **savage**_ _._

…

It was late evening for most of Zootopia, but for Nick, it was only early afternoon; he had decided yesterday to attempt transitioning himself back to a more nocturnal schedule. While the change would serve the purpose of reinforcing his identity as a predatory fox, his primary motivation was that this timeslot avoided interaction with as many the city's mammals as possible.

The sun hadn't quite set over any land features yet, but it was currently obscured behind the dark clouds of a thunderstorm on the horizon. There wasn't much fear of it encroaching further, though, as the anomalous mix of synthetic climate zones created turbulent pressure columns that forced most natural weather systems to steer clear of the region. In fact, the sky above him was perfectly clear and there were even several stars that had managed to pierce its deep indigo.

Nick made his way up the concrete stairs in the low evening light. He reached into a pocket to hunt for his keys, but found only his phone and his red neckerchief. Reaching into the other, he found his keys, and nothing else.

He examined the worn copper, greened by oxidization. He decided that he really should get the key copied soon, before more than just his nostalgia wore off the thing.

As a force of habit more than any rule, the door to his bastion remained closed and locked at any time its purpose of granting entry or exit was not immediately being exercised. Additional conditioning dictated, that when the door did lock, granted he was on the correct side of it, his façade fell immediately.

As he turned the deadbolt into place, he felt his mask slip off again. The feeling presented itself in ways that varied with his reasons for being here, but the initial physical effect was always the same.

Upon the sound of the steel click, he released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. After coming here for over twenty-six years, the point on the stairs at which he inhaled and stopped breathing still remained a mystery to him.

Following the air in his lungs, the tension in his body left, too. His posture eased and his ears fell from their attentiveness. Even the fur on his body, but most notably on his tail, relaxed and submitted more fully to gravity.

The wave of sensation started in his spine, ran across his back, and out through his limbs. It could only be likened to how he felt after sunning himself for several hours, but even that could never compare to what it truly felt like: _safety_.

It didn't matter if he was planning on being here for hours, like the last time, or just minutes, like this time; he was always Nick Piberius Wilde in this room. This was the only place that he could authentically exist, and allowing others here, even other versions of himself, would corrupt the integrity of this place, and he would never feel safe to unshield himself again.

With the ritual complete, Nick made his way to the desk, and sat in the chair.

He pulled on the top right drawer, and the solid oak rails slid smoothly as it opened. It extended to a length that, if one didn't know any better, suggested the desk was potentially bigger on the inside. The contents of the compartment were all in perfect order and were, for the most part, exactly as John had left them.

Frontmost laid several stencils, protractors, drawing squares and compasses. Further back was a row of neatly slotted black pencils in various stages of sharpness and length. Beyond those were several more rows of colored pencils, arranged in precise accordance to their spectral gradient. A thin veneer of dust betrayed how long each object had been dutifully waiting for an owner that would never return.

Furthest back in the drawer was what Nick had come here for. He carefully lifted up the small tin box, and set it on the desk in front of him. He opened it and, after some deliberation, selected one of the many keys it contained. He closed the box and placed it back in the drawer. He slid it shut and stood up to leave.

His intention had been only to retrieve the key now in his paw. He really wasn't interested in contemplating any more of his hollow existence today, but the one mammal this place couldn't hide him from was himself.

He didn't feel the sadness, the self-pity, or the lonesomeness that he'd felt last time he was here. Earlier today, he had wondered if those feelings were gone or buried, but the truth of the matter was he had never buried anything so deep that it didn't resurface when he entered this room.

What he was feeling, was more of that shapeless anger. He sat back down in the chair and menaced the door with a scowl.

This was what he had wanted the last time he was here: to be angry. But angry at what, he still wasn't sure. He mentally went through the list of things it could be: the city, the savages, Judy, the graffiti, society's view on foxes, every mammal that ever took something from him, that his whole life amounted to absolutely nothing. He wasn't particularly pleased with any of those things, but no specific one felt like the right reason. Being unable to determine what he was mad about was nearly as infuriating as the anger itself.

The aggression was rising again and he dug his claws into his pads as he clenched his paws into tightly shaking fists; the retrieved key dug roughly into the flesh of his digits. He stood back up and filled the room with a ferocious, growling bark.

Breathing heavily, he wanted to hit something, but he still had the presence of mind to know that damaging something of John's would only bring him shame and regret later. He also knew that if he didn't find some way to work this off, it was going to continue to build, and would result in another loss of control.

He released his fist over the desk and the key fell to it. He walked briskly to the wardrobe and tried not to notice the irate fox reflecting back at him while he opened it. As he reached for the small duffle bag inside, he felt a flicker of gratitude that this room wasn't the only thing John had left him.

…

His heart was racing in his chest, as his body did the same across the shifting sands of the riverside. Rapid breath whistled through his moonlit snout.

Running was one of the few activities that he could actually derive honest satisfaction from. It never failed to clear his head of the hopelessness, and it always left him ready for more of whatever life would throw at him next.

It was another remnant from his father, a thread through time that linked them together. One of his earliest memories was of sitting in a speeding stroller as wind whipped across his face. The memory was unspecific; only a few frames of rushing past trees under clear blue skies, but the feeling of happiness was an indelible part of the recollection.

In high school, John had been a runner, and as evident by the trophies and medals sitting on a shelf back at the warehouse, he had been pretty good at it. Among those awards sat one of the only images Nick had of his father. Black and white, it showed two gazelles, a zebra, and second from the left, a widely smiling fox with eyes full of pride. The back of it read: _'Males 4-100y Relay Pack, First Place 1981'_.

As Nick ran, he could feel his unshackled rage continue to escalate. He forced it down through his legs, out through his pads, and into the sand below. He pushed harder and faster in an effort to stay ahead of the rising tide and the other memories he knew would be quick to surface next.

In the early years that followed his acquisition of a red neckerchief, he hadn't been as fully committed to being _just_ a fox as he was now, and he'd still held out hope that someday he could be more. One of the earliest things he'd tried to be _more_ at was running. His dad was good at it, and it had gotten him a pack. Maybe Nick could be good at it too, and maybe this could be his second shot at finding the sense of belonging he so desperately craved.

By the time his age matched the fox in the photograph, he actually had become very good at it. Back then, it still brought him a genuine happiness that he'd failed to find in any other part of his life.

Sixteen at the time, Nick had already had years to develop his knack for identifying opportunities. While his youth was no hindrance to being clever, it did hold back the development of his cynicism; a trait that could only come with experience. So while he recognized his running ability as a possible chance for escaping the path it seemed his life was destined to take, he missed the darker potentials hiding in the glare of the hope.

He had no trouble making the team, and over the course of the season, became one of the fastest in his category. The relay pack-leader was even a predator, and it seemed there wouldn't be any barriers to another Wilde joining the ranks.

But in keeping with the trend of every good thing that ever entered his life, something had happened to ruin it all.

It had been late on the Friday night before the week of qualifying rounds. His pack-leader, a senior hyena, had invited him out for an initiation of sorts. He'd been running with the relay pack for the last several weeks at that point, and there was little doubt that after qualifiers, they would move on to districts, and place well at finals.

This initiation wasn't going to be some oath-taking nonsense like last time. It was going to be something a little more mischievous, and Nick had been excitedly expectant for it to solidify the bonds of his new pack.

The intention was to participate in a prank war that had been volleying between the track pack and the hoofball herd for decades. With a little help from Nick, the pack had hustled a support staffer out of his keys, and gained entry to a supply shed. From there, they quickly found the equipment used to paint lines on the field, and employed the devices in their scheme. When completed, the regular widthwise lines of the hoofball field, now intersected with several lengthwise lines, creating a comedic checkered pattern.

As they returned the evidence to the shed, Nick had suddenly heard laughter behind him. He'd spun around just in time to see the door slamming shut. Before he could reach it with his paws, the distinctive click of a padlock reached his ears.

… _Do you really think we want to take a_ fox _to finals?..._ He'd heard his former pack-leader ask through the door.

They'd hustled the hustler, and he had spent the rest of the night trapped in the supply shed, scorning himself for being so stupid a second time. He hadn't even been able to escape to his sanctuary for comfort. Even though he was technically alone in there, he never let his mask falter as he tried to find his way out.

The next morning, a maintenance mammal found him and it hadn't taken long for school officials to connect the dots. He'd accepted full responsibility for the incident, and even stated that no one else had been present. Being honest would have gained him nothing; a lie from a fox was always far easier believed than the truth, and no administrator ever questioned how he could possibly have locked himself _inside_ the shed, when the padlock was _outside_ the shed.

With a bit of smooth talking, he avoided expulsion and the only lasting consequence had been his preclusion from participation in future sporting activities.

Back in the present Nick ran even harder as he realized he was lying to himself again. The only consequence hadn't _just_ been his removal from the extracurricular; the incident had ruined his enjoyment of the activity entirely.

The night he should have been at finals, was spent on the cot in the office. From then on, running only ever served to clear his head of despair, and it never brought him legitimate joy again. Just like everything else that ever made him happy, it was taken away from him; he was never allowed to keep any of it.

Why was it never enough to just leave him alone? Why did the world have to conspire to make him miserable? To immediately pounce on any enjoyment he found? To _always_ take away anything that gave him fulfillment?

 _I am a fox._

The answer rang out so clearly in his head. It was so obvious now that the question had been asked. The world abhorred foxes. They couldn't stand seeing one happy. They couldn't stand seeing _him_ happy. He loathed being a fox. Everything that ever happened to him was because he was a fox. Everything _always_ came back to that.

And why shouldn't it? The world had its reasons for hating his species. Was everyone really supposed to just _pretend_ that there wasn't thousands of years of evidence that proved foxes were _exactly_ what everyone claimed them to be?

… _You can only be what you are…_

All that time, and they'd never _become_ anything else because they never _were_ anything else. Sly foxes had been wreaking havoc on the world for millennia. They were a scourge that couldn't help but scheme and connive against the pack. Their selfishness had been savaging society from the very start. Why should they ever be seen as anything other than shifty and untrustworthy?

… _You are so much more than that…_

Of course he was. It hadn't been enough for him to stop at being _just_ a fox, he'd made himself into the _worst_ fox. He'd spent his whole life cultivating and accentuating their most deplorable traits. Everything they hated him for was true; he was a liar, a trickster, and a scamming hustler. Convincing himself that he'd ever wanted to be something more, was the biggest, longest con he'd ever pulled. He'd swindled himself into believing that he wasn't the thing he hated most, that it was all just a mask to protect the _real_ him. There was no _real_ him; only a vile self-righteous fox, looking for its next target.

… _You're not like them…_

That was true too; he was _far_ more dangerous. They were right to shun him. _She_ was right to fear him. If he could deceive himself like this, then he was capable of inflicting far worse on them. Foxes didn't belong in packs and certainly not behind badges.

Those things required trust and foxes didn't deserve trust. They'd never done anything to merit it. They didn't deserve happiness either and the whole world knew it. That's why they detested his kind. That's why they wouldn't leave him alone. That's why they took everything from him. They would never let him be happy because _they knew_ he deserved it least of all.

He'd wanted to blame everyone else, but the fault wasn't theirs; he was the common denominator. He was worst of the foxes. If fault lay with someone, then it lay with him. His wrath wasn't for anyone but himself. He was furious at having been born a fox and was revolted by everything he'd become. Every part of him was despicable. He hated foxes and he hated himself for being one.

The enmity at his own existence fed-back on itself. Surging venom consumed his ability to give critical thought to anything else. Left with only torrid rage, he blindly sprinted ahead.

…

The waning moon was far above the horizon when the run finally exhausted his rancor. He'd been running for quite a while, and had set off with no particular destination in mind. Even so, it didn't take him long to recognize where his legs had taken him.

With his paws on his head, he panted heaving gasps for air as he slowly walked forward to recover. While he did so, he stared at a sign at the end of the street in front of him: _'Welcome to Happytown'_

The run had served its purpose. He'd identified the target of his anger, and worked it off to the point that he would hardly have to put effort into hiding it. The sign with the name of his home borough triggered no flashbacks; the _Fox Away_ logo in the center of it, no irritation; his father's name atop the building to his left, no sadness; and the knowledge that his mother's apartment was just three blocks away, no yearning for reconnection.

If he was never going to be allowed happiness, then nothingness was the highest he could achieve. He knew that striving for anything more _always_ ended in failure, and _always_ sent him to far worse places than emptiness. And now he knew why.

While he continued to catch his breath, he could feel that his mind was at ease, and he was satisfied that the run had reset him to baseline. He turned around to look down the dark, empty street behind him. It stretched far into the distance, and he frowned in contemplation of the seventeen miles back to the warehouse.

 _Fuck..._

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

17 miles is 27.4 km. I usually do storytelling with the metric system, but it is canon that Zootopia uses imperial units.

Let no one say that Nick couldn't handle the academy like the champ he is!

If you want a better image of where Nick ended up at, look at the concept art on page 61 of the 'Art of Zootopia' book.

Nick being a runner is canon. Rich made a tweet once that Nick met Flash when they ran track in high school.

Fox Fact: Red foxes have been clocked at 30mph (48.2kph)! They can also jump over 15ft (4.5m)! I'd planned on including something in here about Nick also being good at the 'long pounce', but unfortunately that did not make the final cut. Maybe another time.

I think I forgot to say this earlier, but: any time there are news articles or alerts, assume Nick read them, even if I don't explicitly say he did. That will be a device I use more moving forward but having exposé on the specifics of when, where, and how Nick read them is too bulky and wouldn't add anything to the story (unless it does, in which case I will include it).

 **Big Thanks** to eng050599 for helping out again! You were a lot of help on this one.


	6. Recovery

…

Day 6

…

[znn com/breaking-alerts/rss/]

-Pop Singer Gazelle Plans Peace Rally

-Council-mammal Hayworth to Speak on Planned Proposals Soon

-Zootopia General: Cliffside Asylum Retro-Fit Top Priority as Beds Fill Up

…

Nick gave a gentle, cooing whine as he roused from his slumber. He was still in enough of a haze that he hoped sleep might want him back, but as his consciousness began receiving updates from the nerves in his legs, he dismayingly came to terms with the fact that that wasn't going to happen.

He groaned, more deliberately this time, and reached his arm over the side of the cot, where his paw found a half-empty bottle of water. Without lifting his head off the thin pillow, he drained it into his muzzle. He let out a gasp of relief, and then uncaringly dropped the empty bottle back to the ground.

He had purchased that bottle and drank the first half of its contents last night. Upon realizing that he'd had no desire to complete a run that he was already finished with, he'd walked a few blocks to a gas station to satisfy his body's craving for electrolytes and protein. While waiting for a Zuber back to the warehouse to spend the night, he had remembered that there really wasn't much in the way of even the most basic necessities here, and he'd bought the extra water in the anticipation of needing it when he woke up; a forethought to which he was now very thankful for.

He rubbed his dark paws up and down across his face to fluff his fur and get some of the sleep out of his eyes. When finished, he raised his arms above his head, inhaled deeply, and then let it out as a generalized moan as the tendons and muscles of his upper body gained increased circulation from the contractions and stretches.

As was the inevitable start to most of his mornings, he began an assessment of any damages he may have inflicted on himself during the previous day.

With cautious intent, he had yet to move much of anything below his chest. Even so, he still had a sense of how very stiff his legs and core were, and he could feel fatigue in the regions of his body where the muscle fibers and lung tissues were busy restoring themselves from the savage beating he had given them last night. While this all summed up to give him a dull and generalized soreness, his instincts perceived excessive force exertion as something particularly predatory, and they knew that when his body healed, he would be better, faster, and stronger than before. Being such a desirable outcome, those instincts intended to reward, not punish, his efforts, and they worked overtime to flood him with endorphins to intercept and transfigure most of his discomfort. This left his aching to manifest itself as an unusual hue of pleasure and gave him the satisfying sense that he had done well in achieving some sort of primal purpose.

 _I am a predator._

Racing well ahead of his physique, the repair of his mind seemed to be complete. He suspected that his perception was still being clouded by endorphins, but digging beneath that, he was sure he felt _lighter_. As far as he could tell, all the things that had been burdening him these past several days were now either properly packed away, or removed completely.

He still hated everything about himself, in fact, he'd never felt so certain about anything in his life, but that didn't change anything about the state of the city and, as he'd realized towards the end of his run last night, the sentiment wasn't even new. He'd always hated himself. If anything had changed last night, it was only that there was now one less mammal in the world that he was lying to about who and what he was. That newfound honesty with himself was already making quick work of unraveling the complex gymnastics act that his mind usually performed to justify his motivations.

 _If I am a fox, then there is no point in pretending I am anything else._

With his focus no longer being continually dragged into dealing with his issues, and his mind no longer pretending that he had any to begin with, he was free. He'd forgotten what this felt like; this is how he used to feel, this is how he'd felt even ten days ago. He had always done whatever he wanted before, the only difference now was that he didn't have to waste time inventing a justification for it.

He didn't need to be happy to feel good. Maybe it was the endorphins again, but he could actually feel how much quicker and more agile his wit was. Backed by an aggression that was now both understood and, in theory, controlled, he had a cocky buzz that made him feel primed and eager to use his newly enhanced acumen.

He knew he'd get that chance shortly; this city was racing downhill fast. He still had no idea what it was going to look like when it reached the bottom, but in his present state, he wasn't just confident he was going to survive it, he was excited to thrive in it.

Ready to face the city, he moved the cover off of his body and braced himself for the attempt to get up. Instead of prolonging it, his newfound boldness pushed him to just go for it all at once.

In one motion, he sat himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the cot. He made a heaving grunt as he did so, but the movement hadn't hurt as much as he'd anticipated. Trying to capitalize on the success, he stood up, took a step towards the window, and promptly collapsed to the wood-paneled floor.

" _Ow…_ " Nick groaned out to the empty room. He'd managed to break the fall with his paws, rather than his snout, but he had still hit pretty hard. As he lay there, he took a moment to reconsider his earlier bravado as he waited on his right calf to stop its spasmodic, cramping contractions.

…

The rusty sonic screech of the storage locker door grated on Nick's sensitive ears. He had begun the process of freeing it a moment ago by removing the lock that matched the key from the office upstairs. That key and this door hadn't been used in nearly a decade now, and it took several more seconds of wrestling before the cabinet finally relented.

This is what he'd come here for last night. Compared to what he'd actually spent his evening doing, this now seemed pretty trivial, but his reasoning for wanting to inspect what lay behind the door was still valid. In fact, his newly freed mind would be a valuable asset in his efforts to capitalize on its contents.

Now fully revealed, those contents presented themselves as several black garbage bags arrayed neatly on the grey sheet metal shelves. The shape of the polypropylene hinted that each concealed something cubic inside.

Nick randomly selected a bag from the lowest shelf and heaved it to the dirty, cracked concrete floor. He resisted the urge to slice it open with a claw and untied the knot at the top instead. It took some doing, but he eventually managed to undo the dusty binding and open it.

Vivid ruby greeted his emerald eyes and he smiled. He hastily opened the bag further to expose the stack of vibrantly colored, hand woven, and completely counterfeit, _wool rugs_.

There were several dozen here, all in the most vibrant colors and patterns imaginable. Authentic Purrsain or not, and these were definitely the _not_ , they were still stunning to look at. While none were longer than a single foot, each was quite large by the standards of the rodent consumers for which they were intended.

Rodent products had the unique ability to circumvent nearly all of the logistical and economic hurdles that faced common sized products. While these small items still presented unique challenges all their own, the one thing that made it all worth it, was _value density_.

Of the many books in John's library, the one most influential on Nick's _career_ was one by the name of ' _Mouseanomics'_. A mere forty pages long, and mostly charts and graphs at that, Nick had read it almost twice as many times, and on each occasion, had discerned something new from its pages.

Broken into three parts, the first section offered a common description of the laws of market demand and their relation to the physical size of the consumer. The basic working definition was that, while an individual mouse will demand a very small amount of any one thing, and an individual elephant will demand a very large amount of that same thing, there are a lot more mice than elephants. While any specific product would have its own nuances, the derived rule showed that, on average, a lot of small mammals demanding small amounts of something was roughly equal to a few large mammals demanding large amounts of something. Thus, the level of market demand was the same no matter which size demographic you targeted.

The first time he'd read it, he almost hadn't finished it; that concept was so basic it was hardly worth the ink they'd printed it with. But the binding of this particular book was significantly more worn than many of its companions, and Nick had surmised that this was likely one of the ones that John had read at least twice.

His continuation past the basic setup had been well worth it, as the next section delved into the much more complicated topic of money theory. Nick still didn't pretend to understand most of the underlying concepts, but the book had framed it the way one might frame a driving manual; you didn't have to know how the engine worked to use the accelerator.

In short, all mammals were either employed in services or manufacturing. While services fetched small mammals the same wage rate as any other size mammal, most manufacturing jobs actually fetched them far higher; their small size making them, by definition, specialized laborers. This meant that while an individual tiny mammal would demand a very small amount of goods, as compared to their larger counterpart, they had nearly the same amount to spend. This led to an inevitable skew in purchasing power that was inversely proportional to the physical size of the consumer.

With smaller mammals having so much excess money chasing still finite goods, the _invisible paw_ had no choice but to guide the market back towards an equilibrium. Beknownst to them or not, small mammals' financial successes, relative to their needs, had actually caused them to bid up their own prices so much, that when looked at in terms of price per volume, a single cup of coffee for a mouse might cost over one-hundred times as much as one for an elephant. But a mouse coffee was one-thousand times as small, and so the disparity went unfelt.

Nick had struggled to understand why this was at first, but as the book had made abundantly clear, understanding it had no bearing on its truth and it had plainly instructed that the proof was all around him. Simple price checks confirmed this and allowed him to continue on to the final section of the book: _the hustle_.

Once one accepted the first two principles, that demand was even across all size categories, and that small mammals would pay considerably more for considerably less, one then arrived at the concept of _value density_ : the smaller you made something, the more it was worth. From there, it was rather obvious to see that this imbalance could be easily exploited for profit by simply targeting smaller size demographics.

With something so obvious, there was of course a catch, and that hindrance was what prevented every business in the city from exclusively servicing the rodent population. The barrier came in the form of extremely elaborate tariffs, subsidies, and regulations that did their best to tame the market imbalances. But market forces were powerfully savage beasts, and, granted one knew where to look for them, there were always cracks through which opportunity still flowed. The final section of the book had described the best ways to hunt down and take advantage of any prospects that leaked through the bureaucracy. It was, for all intents and purposes, a beginner's guide on how to hustle the economy.

The first time Nick had truly figured it out, he'd smiled in the realization that he was already essentially doing this with his pawpsicle hustles; buying big and selling small. After subsequent reads, his grin got even wider in the realization that someone else had been trying to do this too.

John Wilde's lost dream, _Suitopia_ , had been a plan to create a single suit store for _every size_ of mammal. Honest John had been working on a hustle all his own before fate claimed him, and for the first time since his passing, Nick had felt a true sense of kinship with his father.

John may have been planning on selling mice luxury suits that cost something like twenty-thousand dollars per fabric yard, but that didn't change the reality of it: John really actually was a very talented and accomplished tailor, and he deserved the advantages his gifts afforded him. Nick's initial foray into high-end mini-markets, however, was not quite so admirable.

It had been a congruent accident during his late teens that someone had approached him with an opportunity to break into the rodent luxury industry so shortly after he had come to an understanding of what that meant. The skunk's arrangement had not been complicated; he had the rugs, and Nick had the charisma. The income potential was so fantastically high that Nick had even been able to leave his calling as a pawpsicle vendor. But even more valuable than that, had been the level of honed precision that time had given to his skills as a salesfox, charmer, and all-around mammal reader.

Of the many rodents he had sold to, his most significant patron had been none other than Mr. Big, the most notorious and feared organized crime boss in Tundra Town. During the initial sale of a black, supposedly wool, rug that had been intended as a gift for his grandmother, the shrew had not failed to notice Nick's charismatic wit. At the behest of the recipient of the gift, Nick had been invited back several times to show off more of his inventory. Each visit ended with a closing, and more often than not, the transaction was finalized over dinner at the arctic shrew's mansion.

The Bigs had been so kind to Nick that he'd nearly forgotten that he was a fox each time he was in their presence. He had of course known his supplier was not genuine, and after getting to know them, he had felt true and terrible guilt at selling them the counterfeit rugs, but he had never imagined just how far from the real deal they actually were.

Nick also hadn't realized just how much Madam Big really did love that rug. At the reading of her will, it was discovered that she had requested that, among many other prized possessions, _it_ was to be buried along with her. At some point, Nick wasn't entirely sure which one, and at the time it really hadn't mattered, someone had noticed something _off_ about the rug prior to burying it with the late shrew.

Nick had been as surprised as Mr. Big was at the news and he'd only made it out of there with his tail intact because Mr. Big had been too mournful at the time to deal with him and had not wanted to dishonor any further the memory of his grandmama. However, it had been made clear to Nick that the restraint would not last forever, and that there would be _grave_ consequences if he ever showed his face there again.

Nick had especially taken that warning to heart when he had gone to confront his supplier and found that the skunk had mysteriously disappeared. Not wishing to be disappeared himself, Nick completely abandoned the risky gig in favor of doing the far safer pawpsicle hustle full-time. These rugs had been sitting undisturbed ever since.

Regardless of what they were actually made of, they were still nice _looking_ rugs and he was glad that time had not faded them. His revelation from nearly a week ago, that pawpsicle retailing could soon be coming to an end, was still driving his motivation, now more than ever, to acquire as much money as he possibly could before the storm hit. This excess inventory, risky or not, was simply too much of an opportunity to let go to waste, and if the rugs had any value left in them to be recovered, he wanted to find it. But Nick had been out of the knock-off game for a little too long and hoped that his shaky reconnection with Mr. Big might be able to get him in contact with someone who knew how to move these for him. Having no attachment to these items and having written off the cost of procuring them a long time ago, he was willing to sell at any price.

…

Nick's phone sat upon the desk and he browsed to the contact he was looking for. He stared at it for a long moment as he built up enough nerve to make the call.

When he did, he quickly pushed the call button and lifted the phone to his ear.

The two short rings were followed by a thickly eastern Tundra Town accent. "Nicky? What are you doing calling this number?"

"Heeey, Koslov!" Nick said with as much cheery charm as he was capable of. "Long time, no see!"

"Nicky, you were told never to call this number again." Koslov was resolutely unmoved by Nick's greeting.

"Aw, Koslov," he said earnestly, "aren't we past that?" He switched to a tone that was more righteously confident, "I mean, I was at the head table for Fru's wedding after all."

"What do you want, Nicky?" The bear's tone had not changed much, but it seemed to Nick that Koslov had perhaps resigned to the semi-bluff, and this bolstered his confidence that this plan might actually work.

"Well now, hear me out on this." Nick took a deep breath as quietly as he could and then made the pitch. "I was hoping that, that maybe you could, for old time's sake, ya' know, help me find a connection to move something?" His voice had been working up through the tonal register with every syllable as he asked nervously.

"What is it, Nicky?" Koslov asked flatly.

"Eh... _rugs?_ " Nick nervousness had him speak the word near the upper limit of his range and he had barely managed to get it out at all.

After a short pause, Koslov's response came in the form of the end-of-call chirp from Nick's phone as the line disconnected. He pulled it away from his ear to look at the red-rimmed call screen with one-minute-twenty flashing as the call time.

 _Damn…_

He didn't really know what he had expected. It wasn't really that big of a deal. In actuality, he did have plenty of money and was currently making it at a faster rate than he ever had before. This had been a long shot, but any opportunity for more was an opportunity he would take. As he knew all too well, things weren't always going to pan out, but he would do what he'd always done, and keep moving forward.

With only a little of the wind taken from his sails, he refocused on the day ahead. It was already late in the morning and there were still several things he needed to do before meeting up with Fin, chief of which, he realized as he sniffed the room, was go home for a shower.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

I have a lot of theories on how their economy would function and I may actually write _Mouseanomics_ someday, at least part of it.

Thank you again for sticking with me though all this since the beginning! And welcome to those of you that are just joining me!

Special thanks again to eng050599 and Highwing for helping proof this again!

In case my wandering prose didn't work for you to understand it properly, I will try to be a little more blunt with it here:

(Honestly, the theory is pretty valid in my business opinion, so if you just want to do what 'Mouseanomics' recommends, and just believe it without understanding it, that's fine.)

Hopefully it makes sense that the average small mammal would make basically the same as an average large mammal and that it makes sense that there are a lot more small mammals than large mammals too. If you get that then it is easy to see that while there would not be an _income_ gap, there would be a _wealth_ gap. Example: I make the same amount as you but I can survive on half as much stuff. I am going to be able to grow wealth a lot faster than you are. Am I richer than you? You can see that I am, but not because I make more money than you.

So a lot more small mammals having a lot faster savings growth means that the wealth of the society is concentrated with the smaller mammals. Taken as a group, the money they have is far higher than larger mammals.

So why does having more money mean that their prices get _bid_ up higher? Example: We are both mice who are looking at getting a new car. Now a mouse car might only have $200 worth of material in it. We mice hardly have to spend any money because we only buy small things, so we both $100,000 of savings in the bank. We both go to the lot and look at the car; we both want to buy it. Problem is there is only 1 car, only one of us gets to get that car. If each of us had a trillion dollars, there is still only one car. So I want to make sure that I am the one that drives that thing off the lot; '$201!' I say to the dealer. You think about it and come to the conclusion that you have plenty of money to spend, so you say '$202!' We could go back and forth like that until the price got too high for one of us to justify the expense or until we've bid up the price to $100,000. This is easy to see with a car, but the same principle would play itself out in their economy (and plays itself out in our economy). Just because rodents have more money to buy more things, does not mean there are more things to buy.

But they could just make another car, right? Sure, but then a third mouse walks in, and we have the same problem. If you look at it in our world, you could just make a billion McLaren P1s and then they wouldn't cost $1.6 million USD. But that's not how an economy works. There are only ever so many of any one thing to buy, regardless of how much money you have to buy them. It is easy to see with big ticket items like this, but it would still play itself out, more subtly, with things as simple as coffee.


	7. Gripped by Fear

…

Day 7

…

[znn com/news/latest-savage-attack-could-have-been-a-lot-worse/]

:Latest Savage Attack Could Have Been a Lot Worse

 _By Davis Treeseeder_

Law enforcement sources have confirmed that this morning's savage attack on the Tundra Springs Resort Lodge could have been significantly worse. The single victim, Lawrence Headland, caribou, 45, reportedly stayed behind to barricade a door, through which many of the resort's visitors sought shelter.

One of the mammals who was protected behind the door describes the moment when Headland became his savior. He said, "We realized that the door wasn't the kind that locked, but we were already in there… there was nowhere else to go. Lawrence just told us to be quiet and he walked out [of] the door. He… He… tipped over a shelf to block the door and… after that, all we could hear was the… the growling."

Police confirmed that there were 12 mammals hiding in the room at the time. One of which was, reportedly, Headland's mate of 26 years.

ZPD officer Zach Jeffers describes finding the trapped mammals: "We couldn't believe someone would do that. The whole force is humbled by the courage displayed here. It's a tragedy that [his] courage had to be tested like this."

Headland is currently in critical condition at Zootopia General Hospital. This makes him the 44th mammal to be critically injured during these attacks.

Headland's assailant, a polar bear identified as 47-year-old Boris Alabaster, was taken into custody and is being held in the controversial 'Savage Ward', making him the 42nd mammal to be committed there.

With the city already gripped by fear, this incident marks the 27th savage attack since ZPD officer Judy Hopps connected the violence to traditionally predatory mammals.

Follow an interactive timeline of those and other related events _here_.

…

[znn com/news/timeline-savage-attacks/]

:Timeline - Savage Attacks

This interactive timeline contains links to all the major events that have transpired over the past week.

A note from the ZNN team: We here at ZNN sincerely hope that this page will not require further updating, but regardless, we will do our duty and maintain the accuracy of this record for as long as it is necessary.

† _Market prices are shown relative to their closing value on Day 0._

 **Day 0**

ZPD holds press conference to disclose the existence of savage mammals and reveals that former mayor Leodor Lionheart had been illegally detaining 15 of them at Cliffside Asylum.

ZPD Officer Judy Hopps confirms a link between the violence and traditionally predatory species, citing the possibility of genetic predispositions as the cause.

Zootopia Grand Central Station is attacked by a savage wolf. This was later identified as the first savage attack that resulted in injured victims.

Totals Tracker: Attacks 1, Critical 2, Wounded 1

 **Day 1**

2 more attacks in public areas.

ZPD increases patrols by 50%.

Totals Tracker: Attacks: 3, Critical: 3, Wounded: 6

 **Day 2**

Dawn Bellwether declared Acting Mayor by City Council in wake of Lionheart's arrest.

Zootopia General sets up 'Savage Ward' after doctors are unable to find any causes or cures for the savagery. Caches of research data found at Cliffside Asylum only lead to dead ends, but are assumed to be useful in guiding future research efforts.

3 more attacks in public areas. 4 critically wounded in a single day.

Totals Tracker: Attacks 6, Critical 7, Wounded 17

 **Day 3**

City Councilor Kyle Hayworth announces candidacy for mayoral special election. Promises to guide city policy towards finding solutions to the crisis.

Talon Defense Company's ( _†_ TALD [ZSE] +14.78%) _Fox Away_ brand logo starts appearing as graffiti all over city.

4 more attacks fuel speculation that the crisis is going to continue to escalate.

Totals Tracker: Attacks 10, Critical 13, Wounded 31

 **Day 4**

Record 6 attacks in single day rocks city.

Zootopia General reviews emergency contingencies as medical network is strained by high demand for surgeons and researchers.

Markets ( _†_ SJIA [ZSE] -4.92%) begin to react as it seems there is no end in sight to the violence.

The ZPD urges citizens to remain calm as 1000s of protesters become outraged at the continued silence from Acting Mayor Bellwether.

Totals Tracker: Attacks 16, Critical 24, Wounded 53

 **Day 5**

5 more attacks.

Talon Defense Co. ( _†_ TALD [ZSE] +38.52%) CEO, Jayson Talon III, makes a commitment to stand by the citizens of the city. Leveraging his position as majority shareholder, he drops prices across all personal defense product lines to below the profit margin. The move is projected to wipe out all first quarter earnings within a matter of weeks. Confused shareholders are outraged, while stock price ( _†_ TALD [ZSE] +38.52%) unexpectedly climbs to 5 year high.

Central Avenue vandalized with Talon Defense Co. ( _†_ TALD [ZSE] +38.52%) _Fox Away_ brand logos. Logo is becoming the symbol of a growing anti-predation movement.

Totals Tracker: Attacks 21, Critical 35, Wounded 68

 **Day 6**

3 more attacks.

ZPD recalls all officers currently on leave and increases patrols again.

Mayor's office releases statement that Zootopia National Guard is on standby for medical and logistical support; no plans for boots on city ground.

Victim of first attack in Grand Central Station wakes up to tell story.

Zootopia General lauded for having an incredible 0 fatalities related to the crisis.

Totals Tracker: Attacks 24, Critical 40, Wounded 72

 **Day 7 (Today)**

3 attacks today so far. (Numbers subject to change.)

Hero of Tundratown saves 12.

Totals Tracker: Attacks 27, Critical 44, Wounded 77

…

…

Day 8

…

[pouncehart com/politics/opinion/hayworth-clearly-wants-violence]

:Hayworth Clearly Wants Violence

 _By Anton Pouncehart_

"I have heard your plea for solutions, Zootopia! And today I have them!" said City Council-mammal Kyle Hayworth at a press conference held early this morning to discuss the apparent epidemic of predator violence throughout the city.

But is our esteemed Council-mammal actually looking for any solutions to this problem, or is he just trying to capitalize on the chaos to consolidate his political gains?

"I understand why you are out there protesting. You are calling out for safety and this government has done nothing," says Hayworth. The problem is, he is a _part of that same government_ and he doesn't think you are smart enough to realize that. If he thinks so little of our new Acting Mayor, why was he the one who proposed the vote to declare her so?

Hayworth says he understands the protesters. Why? Is it maybe because he is a bigot like them? Those protesters are out there for no other reason than to show their true colors. ZNN and the rest of the establishment hacks want you to think that these mammals represent a growing movement that is demanding safety and security. They are wrong. Let's take this point by point.

Is this really a massive movement? No, it is not. ZNN likes to crow the word 'thousands' like it's the whole city. It's not. Not by a long shot. There are 30 million mammals in this city and maybe 3000 mammals at these protests. That's a 1/100th of 1 percent. That is hardly a movement. This is just a small minority that happens to be yelling the loudest and consequently receiving the most media attention because of it.

Are they demanding safety and security? No. They are demanding subjection and regulation of predators and Kyle Hayworth has just been so happy to oblige them.

"…working hard to implement solutions like curfews is just common sense," says Hayworth. If someone has to point out to you that something is common sense, then it probably isn't.

Case in point, after 8 days and 29 attacks, still not a single incident has occurred at night. This news outlet reported on that trend 3 days ago and while the pattern has still held, no one else has reported that fact or even bothered to ask the question of why. Maybe if the reporters at ZNN even pretended to do their jobs, it would be pretty obvious to any mammal with a brain that implementing nighttime curfews to solve what has, so far, been a specifically _daytime_ problem, is anything _but_ common sense.

In an interview with ZNN yesterday, pop-icon Gazelle said, "It is irresponsible to label all predators as savages."

I agree, and quite frankly, it's offensive to do so. The term 'savage(s)' is completely inaccurate, and is only being used as a high-impact buzz word to stir up fear and derision.

These mammals are sick. The condition is known as 'Instinctual Recidivism' and even the most cursory _Falcopedia_ search would tell you that. It was irresponsible for the ZPD and officer Judy Hopps to say 'savages' to start with, and it is criminally negligent for ZNN to continue running with that term.

For every victim, there are friends, family, and loved ones. Let us not forget that every recidivist predator has those too. It is a disgraceful dishonor to each of them to use such an inaccurate word. Instead of trying to solve the problem that has caused so much hardship, ZNN is belligerently spewing propaganda to the public that predators lose their minds simply _because_ they are predators, and Hayworth has made it his mission to encourage that inaccuracy and design legal policy around it.

I don't have any idea what is causing this, but do they really expect us to believe that after 9000 years of enlightenment, predators are suddenly going insane in droves, simply because we are genetically wired to do so? I don't buy that narrative; there is no evidence to support it, and a lot of evidence to refute it.

Aside from the fact that these attacks have only happened during the day so far, other patterns have been identified by my reporting pack, as well. No recidivism event has occurred while the mammal was alone; it's always in a crowd. None of the other primary municipalities are reporting these events, nor are any of the outlying counties. From what our sources have gathered, this is a Zootopia-specific problem. If this was caused by a random genetic event, isn't it _common sense_ that this should be happening everywhere?

So if this isn't random, is it targeted? I don't have an answer to that question, but you need to ask yourself: why is this media organization the _only_ one reporting on these facts or asking these questions?

ZNN says that the mammals of this city are _'gripped by fear'_. You should be. There is clearly something going on here that they are not telling you about, and while they purposely misdirect you on the causes of all this, Hayworth is crafting and implementing policy that has nothing to do with solving the problem and is precisely centered around the outdated notion that all predators are inherently dangerous.

It's clear that Hayworth wants more violence. He is giving credence to the actions of an ignorant minority in his speeches, and at the same time, he is giving validity to their ideals of anti-predation in his legislation.

The only logical conclusion to this is going to be rising divisiveness and turmoil within the city. It's not going to be long before we start seeing violence unrelated to recidivism events, and it seems that Kyle Hayworth is doing everything possible to race us towards that end.

The only difference between Hayworth and those thugs at Sahara Square is that he figured out how to smooth-talk his way into political power. He is a liar and he is dangerous, and believe me when I say that isn't just my opinion.

Currently, my pack is working hard to take a deeper look into exactly who Kyle Hayworth is. Just like with everything else, we are going to be asking the hard questions, following the evidence, and reporting on the facts. Hayworth is not who he claims to be and we have the sources to prove it.

Hayworth is right about one thing, though; whether you're big or small, predator or prey, or even a grey fox like me, you deserve the truth. Your hunger for truth led you here, and it's the millions around Zootopia, just like you, that have made Pouncehart Media the reality it is today. This is the real movement, and its demands are truth.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

Hopefully it was clear that these were supposed to be news articles that one might find online. It is very unfortunate that in present day I did not have to look far for news articles about a crisis to base my formatting on.

I said it before, but I will again here, assume that Nick has read these as part of his effort to stay informed.

A book I read recently was set in contemporary times and used this format to give a better idea of what was going on in the broader world during a crisis. I hope you enjoy it as I will infrequently use it, and other non-traditional methods, to continue telling this story in the future.

It is also interesting to use this format here, because in our own world, news articles are so often used by historians to get a better idea of what the mood was during a particular event at a particular time. And looking at multiple sources, like we just did here, often reveals dissenting viewpoints that add more depth to what was happening.

I hope you like Anton Pouncehart. I've had the idea of him in my head for some time now, and he will definitely be back to drop more hard facts and snappy wisdom in the future.

 _Falcopedia_ is in reference to the bird _Falco peregrinus_. It is a type of falcon that is currently rated as the fastest bird on the planet. In our own world, the term 'wiki' is a word derived from 'quick' (I don't know how, it just is. Wikipedia it if you don't believe me). So that is what inspired the name here.

Canon Check: The ZNN news clip that played in the actual move stated that the caribou was a victim of the 27th attack that took place just one week after the press conference. If it wasn't clear in my writing, I will state it directly here: I interpreted that to mean 27 attacks, not including the 15 already savage/missing mammals. So if you have any qualms about how bloody that sounds, blame Byron and Rich, not me :)

This gets us up to past established timeline in movie canon now, so buckle up as we head out into un-canon-ed territory for the remainder of the 3 months before Judy comes back.

Now I know you came here expecting more of our favorite red fox. Well as a special treat, I have released the next chapter at the same time as this one so that you can get your _feels_ fix in for the day. You are welcome :)

Special thanks again to eng050599 and Highwing for helping edit this!


	8. Red Pelt

…

Day 9

…

"What are you so damn happy about?" Finnick grumbled at Nick as the two heaved the ice cooler out of the back of the van.

"Hmm?" Nick mused as he looked at his aviator-wearing business partner with the smug grin he had been wearing all morning.

His smile wasn't a cover for anything; it was the genuine result of how good he was actually feeling. In the days since he had remastered his emotions, not a single unwanted micro-expression had leaked through his mask. For the most part, it wasn't even an act; the memory flashbacks, emotional cascades, and the silly longings to be something more, all of it had finally stopped.

Realizing that he was not nearly as complex as he used to pretend he was made remaining in a state of detached complacency all the more easy. It was a lot harder for something to get to him when there wasn't that much of him to get to in the first place.

 _Work_ had been a lot easier, too. He'd stopped pretending that he was doing this for any reason other than that it made him feel good to rip-off mammals who hated him. The fantastic amount of money he was making doing this wasn't half bad either. He'd made more in the previous week than he had the previous two months, and that, that felt _very_ good indeed.

"What's there to be sad about, Fin?" he said slyly as the cooler reached the ground.

…

While some mammals found a way to remain at the protests nearly the whole day, most didn't start showing up until mid-afternoon, and the gatherings seemed to hit their peak around the end of the business day. This timing corresponded almost perfectly with Nick and Finnick's original schedule, and they'd had to do very little to adjust their normal routine in compensation for it.

Slightly more consistent than the schedule were the locations that attracted the congregations. The biggest groupings were in front of _The_ _Palms Hotel and Casin_ o in Sahara Square and at the fountain in Savannah Central; the protesters' resolve was apparently not strong enough to _weather_ the more inclement climates of the city's other major districts.

Climate had been the prime factor for Nick and Finnick's choice of venue, as well. While heat was at the top of a rather lengthy list of reasons for Sahara Square being the best location for their operation, a close second was that the proximity of the fountain to City Hall and ZPD HQ meant that security would be more tightly monitored there. Nick still had all his permits for street vending, but there wasn't a lot of point in pushing the matter.

Another key reason that hadn't made it on the list, or even out of Nick's subconscious, was that avoiding city center would be the best way to avoid _her_. Having a specific reasoning for wanting to avoid Judy would have required him to give the matter conscious thought, but not having had a sufficiently good motivation to subject him to the despair that would follow the analysis, his subconscious kept the matter suppressed and presented it to him only as an anonymous drive to stay away from locations where she might be encountered.

That drive, even though Nick didn't know it, had been _his_ deciding factor on where to go. If the motivation had been absolute, he likely would have dropped the hustling all together, but the much more conscious desire for more cash was still a fair bit stronger, leaving _The Palms_ as an equitable compromise between the competing potentials.

"Pawpsicles!" The sunglasses-wearing, bright-blue shirted red fox called out gleefully as he started up sales for the day. "Get your pawpsicles!"

…

While it took them as many as three hours to sell two hundred pawpsicles in the _old_ _days_ , the protests had made it so they could go through nearly six hundred in half that time. So far today, the sales of the last hour had held true to that rate and there was little reason to doubt that by the end of the next, the pair of foxes would be back in Finnick's van, counting their earnings.

The crowd had naturally self-segregated into predator and prey zones and while Nick and Finnick were not exactly scared of a possible confrontation, it had still made sense to stay among the predators for as long as sales remained strong. Even so, they had set up shop near the border with the prey crowd, just in case any of the grazers took an interest in acquiring a refreshment. The division between the two groups that everyone else seemed so excited about was actually getting more and more laughable each time Nick thought about it; both groups had _always_ hated foxes and the events of the past week had done very little to change the circumstances for any member of his species.

In stark contrast to the orderly lines that the _Lemming Brothers_ formed, the patrons here ambled around the makeshift kiosk in chaotic hordes. Nick did his best to keep some organization as he continued swapping his icy treats for bills, while Finnick kept out a glaringly watchful eye for any sticky paws taking interest in their excess inventory.

Nick was in the zone of salesfoxship; making eye contact, keeping his smile wide, but not fanged, and engaging in occasional small talk with any mammal who solicited it. His focus had been so enthralled with the speed at which he was selling, that he had failed to take notice of the slowly shifting demographics around him.

"Three dollars," Nick said with a smile. He accepted the bills, and handed the jaguar a pawpsicle. "Pawpsicle?" he asked the next mammal.

The ram looked down at Nick with a harsh, bar-eyed glare, and left his question unanswered. Nick returned his glare by narrowing his own eyes smugly behind his tortoiseshell sunglasses. He then turned to his right to try another potential buyer. He didn't make his pitch again because this patron looked suspiciously like the one he had just confronted. They were even wearing the same t-shirt; black and featuring a graphic of a long horned ram's skull, with a three-tined crown floating above it.

For the first time in nearly a week, Nick's instincts panged fear hard enough to send the sentiment to the forefront of his mind. It wasn't overwhelming, but he could already feel his body going through the preflight checklist for an adrenalin burn. Foxes may have evolved as predators, but _fight_ was not their traditional primary survival strategy. Even with his amped-up aggression, Nick really wasn't prepared to dish out or accept anything more than a verbal assault.

His mask held his smirk firm and he turned to his left. A third ram had joined the group and was wearing the same shirt and facial expression as the other two.

With some effort, Nick tamped down his revving instincts. These sheep looked pretty serious, but this was about as public a venue one could be in, and he still had a few cards he could play before something as primal as fight or flight needed to be considered.

Nick forced his grin a little wider, and then spoke in a tone that was meant to be knowing and understanding of a customer's plights, using his paws and body language to articulate the light, jovial mood he hoped to create. "Ya' know, I bet you three…" his façade shook but didn't falter as his eyes found his current count to be outdated, "you _four_ , are pretty warm in all that wool." He grinned but could tell that they weren't buying it. "How about I make you a deal?" He kept his smile wide, but not toothy, as he looked around with sly eyes. A fifth was approaching now and none of the ones already here had made any reaction to his offering yet. He lifted the back of his paw up to his muzzle as if to make it a secret, saying, "I'll sell em' to ya, two for five." He cocked his head, widened his eyes and opened his paws, pads up, to show his eager interest in receiving their answer.

They were in the middle of a crowd of thousands of screaming, protesting mammals, but the uncomfortable silence he was met with seemed to drown out all the other sounds around him. His instincts, however, could still hear everything, and they began to articulate his ears in such a way as to allow them to keep a sonic eye on the places he couldn't see. The fur on his tail began to bristle first, but he could feel the follicles in other areas starting to tense as well. Clearly these five...no, now six, rams were not here for pawpsicles, so he moved on to his next strategy.

He took a slow step backwards. The movement served the simultaneous purposes of getting him closer to both the cooler and to Finnick, as well as keeping his posture non-dominant. While his body language feigned a lack of aggression, the lessening cheer in his face and tone of voice did not. Showing his annoyance he said, "Look, if you're not here to buy a pawp, then you're holding up the line. Let's move along, now." He made a shooing motion with his paws.

In a voice unexpectedly deep for a sheep, the one that had arrived first on the scene finally broke his silence. "We'll stand where we want, _red pelt_."

Nick's adrenal gland recognized the term a fraction of an instant before his mind did, and it sent icy volts through his veins, out through his extremities, and into the tips of each of his digits; every claw on his hind and forepaws contracted ever so slightly, as if to test their readiness for continued threat escalation.

The insult was old, _very_ old. Many thousands of years ago, predators had eaten prey as food, but the violence had not been as entirely one-sided as the _meek_ species liked to think it was. While the history books were all consistent in their identification of predators as hunters and murderers, barely any of the texts conceded that prey were the same. The distinction for what did and did not make it into the curriculum was, by all objective measures, motive; predators had killed because of the _savage_ urges that came from their survival instincts, prey had killed because of the _civilized_ urges that came from their fashion desires.

 _The First Treaty_ had been lauded through the ages as a masterpiece of diplomacy and progress, and during the steep incline of Zootopian society over the last century, the presumed efficacy of the covenant had become a pervasive cultural trope, and a rallying cry for any wishing to virtue signal their tolerance and openness to diversity. But like so many other legacies, this one didn't even come close to living up to its legend. The fabled ancestral declaration that anyone could be anything and the promise that predator and prey could live together in harmony had, in reality, done very little to affect the lives and deaths of the species not present at the meeting, and subsequent arrangements had followed a similar trend.

The initial non-aggression pact consisted of only the strongest species from each side, but prey mammals had been quick to assemble a more unified and inclusive front to represent _all_ their members during negotiations. This contrasted with the often overlooked fact that during the _savage era_ , predators ate other predators, too. That minor detail worked itself into the fabric of _all_ the earliest legal and political frameworks.

From the disconnected perspective of over eight millennia, the progress during this period of enlightenment seemed practically instantaneous, and for most species, it was an undeniable truth that they would need to go back several hundred generations to find an ancestor who had been consumed for their flesh or skinned for their pelt. However, the pervasiveness of concessions and compromises, mostly on the part of predators, on behalf of their subordinates, throughout this _enlightened_ time, meant that this lineage statistic was less true for lower predators, and least true for red foxes.

It had still been a very, _very_ long time since the last _Vulpes vulpes_ had been killed for his pelt, but the time between that latter murder, and the initial gathering at the watering hole, had been an _even_ _longer_ time.

The epithet was meant to remind Nick that red foxes had always been seen as the least important of all the mammals, that his species would always be last invited to the negotiation table, and that, out of his entire existence, the only thing of value he had to offer this world was his _red pelt_.

Even at his most core level, Nick was indifferent to the status implications; they would have to do a lot better than that to make him feel like a lower, more worthless creature than he already believed himself to be. The thing that had frightened him (and yes, he had to admit it to himself now, he was indeed quite frightened), was the casual ease with which the slur was spoken.

It was satirically accepted that just killing a red fox outright was _far_ less offensive than calling one that. Even amongst themselves, foxes, of every variety, never used the term. It was a sword with no handle, delivering its wounds not just to the target, but to the ancestral shame supposedly carried by all mammals for having let the practice continue for so long. The callousness that was required to wield it so freely and in such a public place (along with several other clues) told Nick that this herd might very well be prepared to use something a little more visceral the next time they wanted to express their attitudes towards him.

"Do we have a problem, Nick?" came a voice that was, to Nick's delight, even more unexpectedly deep and growling than the ram's had been.

Nick had been smiling this whole time, but his eyes, always the first to betray him, were beginning to falter and widen from their half-lidded contempt, making him thankful for the added protection his sunglasses gave in obscuring his eyes from the view of his accosters. Nick's ears tracked the approaching sound of a bat being dragged across the pavement, and the knowledge that he now had backup, steeled his doggedness for more verbal fight.

Nick looked down to smile at his partner, who had just come to a stop beside him, aviators glinting dangerously in the bright sunlight, and said with a light casualness, "Oh, no problem, Fin. These lovely little lambs were just interested to know if we had any coats for sale." Nick turned to look at the gathering, narrowed his eyes at them, and in a steadier version of the voice he had just used, said, "They were just leaving."

"What makes you _chompers_ think we have any interest in leaving?" said the ram evenly.

"What the _fuck_ did you just call us?" Finnick asked with an incredulous malice as he pulled the bat to rest in front of him; the business end was still on the ground, but the fennec's paws were gripping it in such a way that its idle positioning would not be a hindrance if its immediate use was required.

Nick had been taken aback, on the inside, by the word as well. He was pretty sure he'd never heard it before, but the connotative definition that his mind had derived from the context clues was decidedly negative. Even so, if they were still in the verbal stage of this confrontation, it was Nick's job to do the fighting, not Finnick's.

"It's okay, Fin," Nick said, not breaking his narrow-eyed contact with the lead ram. "Someone probably told them to say that." Nick let his smile form wide enough for his fangs to show, and he pushed his voice into a more gleefully sardonic register, "After all, sheep are followers; they're not smart enough to come up with that sort of stuff on their own." Nick could see that he had finally succeeded in eliciting a rise from the mammal and it was his intention to capitalize on the momentum. He pointed out into the crowd that he'd nearly forgotten they were surrounded by, and said with as much dismissive deviousness as he could, "Ah, there's a nice goat. Why don't you go follow him instead of herding around us?" He waved his paw in a shooing motion again. "Go on, flock along now."

The lead ram took a step towards Nick, causing his hair-trigger instincts to surge him another dose of adrenalin. The brute wasn't _that_ much taller than Nick, but he was definitely a lot thicker, and Nick's mind began to regret his earlier brashness while his body geared up in preparation for flight; he wasn't so aggressive as to take on six…no, seven now, rams at the same time.

 _Damn flocking cowards._

"I think we'll do just fine following you," said the ram with a note of amusement in his tone.

Nick swallowed a little harder than he'd meant to show and a nervousness began to tarnish the polished smug smirk on his face. He wanted to look at Finnick, in hopes that the fennec was showing more bravery than he was, but something instinctual impressed upon him the importance of not breaking eye contact with a _predator_.

Nick didn't have to make the choice, though, as the lead thug broke eye contact to look at one of his comrades. He called out, "Hey Lenny, go check if that cooler has anything interesting on the bottom of it." He looked back at Nick and chuckled.

Nick hadn't been expecting a witty remark and most of the usually sharp parts of his mind were busy calculating escape routes, so the double meaning of the command was not immediately grasped. Its significance correlated at approximately the same time as the sound of plastic scraping against the plaza concrete reached his ears.

His brow furrowed as he spun around. Along the way, he saw that Finnick was doing the same, and both foxes had done a full one-eighty just in time to see their cooler of pawpsicles being dumped on the ground by a black-shirted ram.

"Nothin' here, boss," the vandal called out dopily as he examined the bottom of the now-empty cooler.

It was apparent that Nick had just lost the rhetorical battle and it was now Finnick's turn to take a _crack_ at it. Growling as viciously as Nick had a few days ago, he reared the bat above his shoulder; his determined posture made it clear that he intended to swing. He took a step towards the upended cooler while Nick shifted his weight to the tips of his hind paws, and turned slightly so that his stance would present a smaller target when the fight started. He mentally noted the positioning of each ram and more adrenalin fortified his readiness to have Finnick's back now that things were undoubtedly going to get ugly.

"Is there a problem here?!" shouted an imposing female cheetah suddenly. The cat was wearing a dark blue ZPD uniform with a shiny badge adorning her chest and was watching them all with an authoritarian glare.

Finnick quickly lowered his bat as all the mammals directed their attention towards the officer.

"No, ma'am," said the lead ram with resolute confidence. "We were just helping this fox here clean up the mess he made."

The officer looked skeptical. Leveling a stern gaze at Nick, she inquired, "Is that true, _fox_?"

Even with the city on the brink of outright flames, he still couldn't catch a break, even from another predator. Ignoring that she had said 'fox' the way he imagined she might expel a hairball, he felt a little calmer in knowing that the immediate danger had passed. In deciding how to respond to her question, he re-remembered the way she had just said 'fox' and decided that attempting to change the narrative already established by his assailant would at best, leave him with another example of how highly the ZPD regarded foxes, and at worst land him and Finnick in the zoo for some obscure vendor's ordinance that he'd overlooked. With the pawpsicle markets clearly closed for the day, he just wanted extrication from this place as soon as possible.

Nick forced his face from shocked concern to a cheeky, sardonically guilty, smile. "Yup, just so clumsy, I guess." He chuckled a bit, shrugged his shoulders and drooped his eyes and ears for effect. "We'll just be getting out of here, then." He smiled and didn't break eye contact with the officer as he put a paw on Finnick's back to guide him towards the emptied cooler.

"Be more careful next time," the officer said in a tone that Nick identified as an unwarranted reprimand.

"Sure thing, officer! Have a good day now!" Nick said with as much nonchalance as he could forge.

He rolled the cooler back over, onto its wheels, and dragged it behind him as he and Finnick made their way back to the van.

…

The two foxes sat quietly in the van for several minutes before either could think of anything to say. Each one was quite embarrassed at his own performance, and each was not quite ready to face the other's criticism for their failure just yet.

Nick's silver tongue still had a lot of ego to repair when Finnick finally found his.

"Maybe we should just go back to the lemming place tomorrow," he said with an uncharacteristic caution.

"That… That's probably a good idea," Nick said flatly as he continued to stare at the folded paws in his lap.

"Alright then," Finnick said with a roughness that was more familiar to Nick's ears. He turned the key, and the van rumbled to life.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

Every nation has a history they don't talk about, founding documents that arose from questionable intentions, and heroes who were anything but. Cultural amnesia is something pervasive in every land of our world, and it is likely a keystone feature of every civilization _wherever_ and whenever they find themselves.

eng050599 had some thoughts on this subject:

 _Those who fail to learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. -Santayana_

 _There will always be a need to examine the past, and it's something that we do through archeological and anthropological methods. History may be written by the victor, but the truth can still make itself known centuries after the fact._

 _Sometimes you do need to take a step back before you continue forward_.

Thanks eng050599. Your commentary is always helpful and insightful.

Fox Tip: Don't forget your past, lest you repeat it, but don't dwell on your past, lest you invite its return.

Canon Check: The ram's skull with three-tined (point) crown is an image that appears several times in the actual movie. Most notably it is on the shirt of Walter/Jessie, one of the rams helping Doug at the lab. It also appears on shirt behind Judy when she gets off the train the first time, on a rhino in line at the DMV, and as a small chest emblem on the ram blocking the door at the Natural History Museum (he's the reason why the duo had to run left and hide, instead of going out the door to the ZPD). The symbol has some weird meanings in our world, but forgetting my tin foil hat for a second and not wondering why a demonic symbol made at least 4 appearances in a kids movie, this symbol does make the perfect marking for an anti-predator movement (in addition to the _Fox Away_ logo of course. In fact, there may even be a reason there are 2 symbols now. Guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out).

I hope that you have enjoyed this latest installment of 3 Months a Fox. I don't want to upsell too much, but I am very excited about what is going to happen in the next chapter, so hang onto your tails!

I really want to thank all those who have been leaving reviews, they really warm my heart to read them and encourage me to keep this going. Thank you, your words are appreciated.

Another big thanks to eng050599 and Highwing for editing this!


	9. Free From Fear

…

Day 12

…

While the melting of a single jumbo-pop allowed Nick a minimum of thirty minutes to sun his dark red fur atop a dark red terracotta roof, the freezing of several hundred pawpsicles demanded a minimum of three hours huddled inside of Finnick's van, blasting the heater. The two vulpines had come up with countless ways to pass the time, but recently, Nick had been spending more and more of it reading up on the grisly events plaguing the city.

As of this morning, there had now been forty-one savage attacks. Those attacks had resulted in seventy-seven mammals in critical condition and more than another hundred who had been injured in some way. So far, there had been exactly zero explanation as to what was actually happening and while conspiracy theorists and academic speculators alike had been sprinting to fill the void, each conjecture left Nick feeling somehow unsatisfied with the conclusion, and each increased his certainty that this crisis was going to continue without end.

Perhaps more dangerous than the savages, the speed with which the city was adapting to this _new normal_ was quite alarming. Three days ago, a confrontation at Sahara Square had driven the fox pair back to their original sales territory, but that clash had apparently been pretty tame compared to the sizable brawl that had erupted at the fountain around the same time. Since then, the protests had been stepping closer and closer to riots every day.

Beyond the civil unrest, a news report indicated that last night, a pawful of predators had been found lying in the streets after having been beaten to the point of unconsciousness. There hadn't been any witnesses to say how they got there, nor any suspects to follow up on, and while the sparse details Nick could find made no mention of a relationship with the anti-predator sentiment flooding the city, he didn't need someone to point out the connection for him.

It was now just an inherent part of living in Zootopia that every day, a score of mammals would be mauled or worse. It was now tradition that before news of an attack even made it out to the public, the next was already in progress. And it was now a commonly held belief that all predators were implicitly dangerous and potentially savage.

Nick suspected that the last one wasn't actually something all that new, but the pervasiveness of the previous points were definitely allowing mammals to be more open about their feelings now.

Last week he'd felt a cocky eagerness to embrace these coming changes, but that misguided delusion had not survived its first encounter with the _actual_ danger those changes had placed him in. Living as a fox had always been challenge enough, and it had been foolish of him to wish for more. He still felt prepared to meet those additional challenges, but now having seen what they were, he realized he much preferred his old life. Preference or not, too much had changed in the last two weeks, and that old life was likely gone forever.

…

"Hey, Fin?" Nick asked nervously.

Finnick paused level one hundred ninety-two of _KibbleCrush_ and looked at Nick. "Yeah, what?"

"I think you should take a look at this," Nick said with a note of unease in his voice. He touched a hyperlink in the article he had been reading, _'Jayson Talon's Savage Solution'_ , and leaned on the armrest where he held his phone out so they could both see it. The screen went black for a moment, then a white arc appeared and circled about the center for a few seconds before the buffered video started playing.

Cliché theme music was accompanied by even more cliché opening graphics. Vector lines and blue-bordered video clips, presumably from previous episodes, crisscrossed the screen. After several seconds the composition reached a crescendo and the visual riot of graphics locked in on the title card: _'Good Morning Zootopia'_

The name faded to a live-action shot high above a brightly lit replica of a living room. The camera angle took a swooping dive over the crowd and vectored to tighten in on the smartly-dressed deer standing at the center of the stage.

"Good morning, Zootopia." The deer had a tone more calm and serious than was normally appropriate for a morning show. "This is Angie Antlerson here, coming to you live from Studio Seven. I want to start out today, like we have every day since this started, with a moment of silence as we remember the victims of this tragic crisis."

The deer let her hooves drop to cross in front of her as she bowed her head and closed her eyes. Superimposed over the video feed, names began moving across the screen. The text flowed at what Nick considered to be a pretty good clip, perhaps even a little faster than was respectful, but as the list continued to scroll, and continued to scroll, he became more and more uncomfortable in the notion that, like the attacks, this list of victims was never going to end. When it finally did, Angie looked back up at the camera.

"It has been twelve days since this all started and each one of those days we've had to watch as that list grows." Angie put a hoof to her chest. "I know how it feels for all of you out there. I know how scared you are, how much it hurts to think about it, and how confusing this uncertainty is." Angie patted her chest for emphasis and gazed sorrowful sincerity into the camera. "I know how you feel because I too am confused, hurt, and scared by everything that has happened so far."

The deer took a deep breath before continuing on; the emotion of her words visibly impacting her.

"We have waited nearly two weeks now, for answers, for solutions, for anything that can make this reign of terror on our city stop. Well, I'm pleased to say that our guest today thinks that maybe, just possibly, that wait is over." Angie gave a smile of weary hope.

Some of the enthusiasm found its way back into her voice as she continued on in what seemed to be a more scripted part of the presentation. "His name is one I think a lot of you will recognize. It's a name that finds itself among the top ten of Zootopia's richest mammals, but it's also a name that has become synonymous with mammalitarian outreach. Following the dreams of his father, he is currently the CEO of the largest personal defense company in the world: Talon Defense."

"Talon Defense has brought countless jobs to Zootopia and their products have saved millions of lives. It is that mission to continue saving mammals that brings him here today. Please join me in giving a warm welcome to...Mr. Jayson Talon the third!" Her excited finish seemed at odds with the mournful mood she'd established at the beginning, but Nick figured that it was likely closer to the tenor she had conducted the show in before all of this had started.

The camera angle panned out to reveal more of the stage as clapping from the audience could be heard. Behind the host, there were two identical white chairs with a glass table between them. As the shot panned out further, a sharply ivory-suited, thirty-point caribou briskly walked into frame. He stepped up to Angie and they touched wrists in greeting.

The camera angle changed and focused with both in frame as the two took their seats.

"Thank you for that kind introduction, Angie." Jayson spoke his words with a calm voice that was somewhat ordinary given his resume. He relaxed cross-legged into the seat and continued on. "I really wish I could say that it was a pleasure to be here, but under the circumstances I just don't think that sentiment is appropriate. What I do want to say is, thank you for giving me this platform to discuss what has become such an important, and frankly tragic topic."

Angie nodded her head in agreement and said, "Mr. Talon, it has been twelve days since the Zootopia Police Department made the initial announcement warning us of the savage threat. In those twelve days, including this morning, there have been forty attacks. Those attacks have left seventy victims in serious or critical condition and another one-hundred ten injured in some way."

Nick frowned at the realization that even after just a few hours, the stats in this video recording were already outdated.

Angie kept her tone even and professional. "Fear has gripped this city, Mr. Talon. In such a short time we have seen such dramatic changes. Mammals have stopped showing up for work, shops are devoid of customers, and according to the Zootopia Transit Authority, public transit usage has dropped by over forty percent in the last week."

"The Sow-Jones Industrial Index has lost seventeen percent since this started and, as I am sure you know, Mr. Talon, this uncertainty has crippled the credit markets that so many small businesses rely on, leaving many employers facing some very tough choices. Many experts fear that this could have devastating economic consequences if something isn't done soon.

"So my first question for you today, Mr. Talon, is this: As it seems the entire economy could completely collapse at any moment, how is it that Talon Defense seems to have turned this crisis into a record-breaking two hundred percent share price increase and nearly a five hundred percent sales increase since all of this started? Can you explain to us why it seems you are profiting immensely from this disaster, Mr. Talon?" Angie had done well in keeping her inquisition professional, but some mix of scandalous disappointment and righteous reprimand had leaked into her tone.

With a confident smile, the caribou leaned forward and began his response. "Thank you for asking me about that. That is definitely one of the topics that I really wanted to address today. But first, Angie, I must insist that you call me Jayson. Mr. Talon was my father and I can only dream of being half the mammal he was."

Angie nodded. "Of course, Jayson." She said it with sincerity.

Nick, considering himself somewhat of an expert in the field, found himself rather impressed with the level of friendly charisma that this mammal was exuding and it was an effort to not be drawn in himself; Nick knew a hustler when he saw one, and this buck was laying it on thick.

"Thank you. Now on the topic of finances, I want to assure you and your audience today that I have been doing everything in my power to make sure that Talon Defense is not profiteering from this crisis, and that my company is not taking advantage of the mammals of Zootopia. In fact, Talon Defense's shareholders are working round the clock trying to sue me for those efforts right now."

"And what are those efforts?" Angie asked curiously.

"My father left me with majority control of the company, so I am nearly free to make any decision I want on how things are run. That is why during the first week of this crisis, I was able to drop the retail prices across our entire line of defense products to just half of what it cost to make them.

Jayson used his calm voice and gestured with his hooves to articulate his explanation as Angie nodded at each point.

"What that means, Angie, is that for every product we have sold during this time, Talon Defense has taken a loss of fifty percent. You have mentioned that Talon has have seen a five-hundred percent increase in sales? Well that has actually translated into massive losses for my company; the more we sell, the more we lose. The other shareholders think that this will ruin the company, and they are probably right, but it is not their choice."

"But why would you do that to your own company, Jayson?" Angie asked inquisitively, seemingly eager to help herself, and her audience, better understand what was happening.

Jayson continued on with an authentic compassion in his voice. "Angie, my grandfather started Talon Defense over one hundred years ago with a mission. That mission was to provide safety and security to _all_ mammals, no matter their species. You see, caribou have built-in personal defense," Jayson said, smiling as he rubbed a hoof over one of the points on his massive antlers. "But just because you are not born a caribou does not mean you don't deserve the right to defend yourself." Jayson took a deep breath to reset his tone. "Angie, I cut prices and am taking losses on those products because the mammals of Zootopia need that protection, now more than ever. In this time of fear, I just wouldn't feel right profiting from the turmoil."

Jayson looked away from Angie and into a camera that tightened its focus on him. "Zootopia, I want you to know that Talon Defense is there for you, to make sure that you can protect yourself. That is your right and I refuse to let profit stand in the way of that. If I could give these products away for free I..." Jayson's voice hitched as he tried to continue on, "I would. I don't know how long we are going to be able to keep this u-up." His voice cracked with more emotion and he took a deep breath. "I know each of you are scared. I am, too…I really am. But I want each of you to know, that until the last penny of value is gone from my company and myself, Talon Defense will continue to be there for you in this time of need." Jayson finished by wiping his sleeve across his eye and pulled it away to reveal his expression as a pained smile.

"You seem pretty passionate about this," Angie said consolingly as the camera angle switched to include both of them once more.

"I really am, Angie." Jayson shook his head. "I really am. I love this city more than anything, and it kills me to see it like this. I wish I could do more, I really do." He finished with a quick sniffle through his nose as he tried to recompose himself.

"What you are doing is so admirable, Jayson." Angie reached over to touch his hoof in a show of solidarity and support.

Jayson wiped his arm over his other eye and with some of his composure back, said resolutely, "No, it's not. It is not admirable. It is what my father would have done and he wouldn't have done it for the admiration or for honor or for anything else. He would have done it because it was the right thing to do, and that's why I'm doing it."

Angie seemed to struggle to maintain her own composure as Jayson adjusted himself in his seat. She pressed on professionally, "Jayson, can you explain to us why Talon Defense's stock price is continuing to rise so dramatically during this? You claim that you are practically destroying your company, but as the majority shareholder, your net worth has nearly tripled in the last seven days."

Jayson gave a short chuckle and said, "I have no idea why the stock is going up, Angie. I really don't." He smiled wryly and was shaking his head. "I can only imagine it is in support of the mission we are on, but it won't last long. I am prepared to sacrifice my fortunes for this city, but others need not do the same." He looked back to the camera. "Zootopia, if you own any Talon stock, you should sell it immediately. I cannot guarantee its safety and with so much danger in the world today…" He struggled to grab a quick breath before continuing on, "Well, you shouldn't be taking on any more risk."

"That's a bold statement for a CEO to make," Angie said with some surprise pushing past her attempt to keep her tone even.

"That's why the shareholders are trying to sue me, I guess." Jayson gave a weak smile and shrugged in resignation.

Angie nodded and smiled back in support, then spoke again. "Now, I know you had an important announcement you wanted to make today, but I have just one more point I would like you to address before we get to that."

Jayson nodded again and said, "Whatever you want to know."

"Jayson, one of the premiere brand lines of Talon Defense is _Fox Away_ personal defense products," Angie stated flatly. She was about to continue on when Jayson cut her off.

"You want to know what our response has been to the use of the logo by the anti-predation movement, right?"

"If you would care to comment on it," Angie responded understandingly.

"I would actually very much like to comment on it, and, if you will give me some leeway, I think this is a good introduction to the topic that I most wanted to discuss today."

"The floor is yours." Angie gestured out towards the studio set around them.

Jayson again looked into the camera as the angle adjusted to zoom in on him. He used his hoofs to gesture out the points of information as he made them. " _Fox Away_ is our oldest brand at Talon Defense. I will not justify the use of the name, but know that when the name was chosen, Zootopia was a very different place than it is now. For over one hundred years that name has been on our best-selling products. I know that some of you out there may see it as derogatory, but I assure you, it has only ever been meant as a product name, nothing more. I would be tasking the Talon marketing team to work on rebranding, but as I was saying before, the company just doesn't have the resources right now to deal with something so trivial."

If Nick hadn't been so cynical, he might have even believed the sincerity Jayson's expression and vocal cadence were conveying.

"Its use as a symbol for hate is extremely disheartening. My grandfather never meant for it to be used that way. I know many of you out there are scared, but we cannot turn to hate in these desperate times.

"I want to talk to all the predators out there." Jayson bowed his head and took a breath before continuing on. "To all the predators out there…" He took another shaky breath. "My heart goes out to you all. As scared as prey mammals are, I know that you are more scared. It is not fair that you should have to live in such fear. We still have no idea what is causing these attacks and I…" His voice hitched again. "I cannot imagine how terrifying it must be to wonder if you could be next; if you could you be the next to lose control and the next to hurt someone you love. No mammal should have to live in so much fear, especially from themselves."

While Nick's current fear was really more of ending up like one of those preds left in the streets last night, having been reminded so directly that he himself was a potential danger, something to be inherently afraid of, something destined to go savage, elicited from him a distinct resentment for this charismatic _arms dealer_. He already knew that he was a fox and a predator, and he already knew what being those things in Zootopia now meant. Remembering the reasons to hate himself was one thing, but being reminded of those reasons by others was something else entirely and it set his fangs on edge with contempt for the veiled insult.

Jayson leaned back in his seat to address Angie again, and the camera angle panned to show both of them. "Angie, so many mammals think that Talon Defense is only for prey mammals; that's just not true. Talon Defense has a mission to provide safety and security to _all_ mammals, including and especially predators." His voice was getting more even and steady as he got further away from his emotional upswell a few moments ago.

"Like I said, no one should live in fear and every mammal deserves to feel safe. That is why, after the first announcement of this disaster twelve days ago, even before I dropped our prices, I shifted the entire research and development fund of Talon Defense into solving this problem." He finished the statement with firm confidence.

"And you think you've solved it?" Angie asked with excitement shining through her professionalism.

The tension from the weight of the topic had visibly left Jayson, and he smiled. "I think we just may have. Should we go see them now?"

"I think that's a great idea," Angie said with her own smile and then they both stood up.

While the camera angle was pulling out to get a wider angle on the stage Finnick broke his stare at the screen and looked at Nick.

"What the fuck does he mean 'they solved it'?"

"Shut up," Nick said in a curt, growled whisper. His focus never left the screen.

The camera angle now showed a different part of the stage with a set of double-rowed bleacher seats. Angie and Jayson were walking up to the twelve mammals sitting in two rows of six. They were all different species, but they were all definitely predators.

When the pair arrived in front of the crowd, a stage tech hurriedly ran into shot, handed Jayson a box, and then quickly ran back out of view.

As Jayson opened the box, the camera view tightened in on it. The box had a smooth cardboard finish and was covered with green graphics that Nick couldn't quite make out on the five-inch screen in his paw. The parcel reminded him of the packaging that this particular smart phone had originally come in.

Using his two-digit hooves, Jayson grasped what was inside and lifted it up out of the box.

"What the hell is that?" Finnick asked.

"Shut the fuck up," Nick growled through his clenched fangs, desperate to not miss a single frame of the video.

Nick and Finnick looked on in nervous confusion at what appeared to be a golden ribbon in the caribou's grasp. Nick couldn't identify what it was exactly, but seeing it sent him a chill that wasn't from the weather outside and it had his survival instinct redlined with panic that whatever he was looking at, it was extremely dangerous.

Jayson cleared his throat before speaking with a booming confidence. "Zootopia, I give to you the solution to the savage problem." He held the object up high above his head. The audience clapped, but it seemed oddly premature since he hadn't said what _it_ was yet.

As the sounds of the crowd died down, Nick's survival instinct triggered an adrenalin rush meant to assist him in either fight or flight, but as the fox was sitting perfectly still in his seat, not moving, merely watching a video on his phone, the adrenalin entered his bloodstream unused, and only served to set his nerve endings on fire. His heart was going to race out of his chest if he didn't rip his fur out first, but he did none of those things as he remained paralyzed with his eyes and ears locked on the screen.

With the cheers and claps finished, Jayson began again. "To all the predators out there that are too full of fright to leave their homes, too afraid be seen in public, or even too scared to be seen by others in private, I give to you the solution to all that fear and terror in your heart. I, Jayson Talon, on behalf of Talon Defense Industries, introduce to you, the _Tactile Aggression Modification Entrustment Band_!"

More clapping started but they _still_ hadn't said what _it_ was yet. Finnick looked up at Nick and saw his quick shallow breaths and highly dilated eyes locked on the device in his paw. The object finally being named by a muzzleful of awkwardly paired words had been no explanation at all, and it had done nothing to stay his apprehension at finding out what _it_ was.

When the clapping slowed and stopped again, Jayson turned to the bleacher rows and spoke with a confident smile. "Step up here, Pauline."

He motioned summons with his hoof and then the camera angle switched to a nervous-looking snow leopard as she stood up from the front row, and then walked to be in front of Jayson.

Jayson turned to Angie as he gestured at his guest. "Pauline here works in our procurement department, and when she heard about this project, she immediately sent an email to my office asking if she could be the first one to test it." He looked at her mournfully. "Pauline, can you tell us why you sent me that email?"

She stood with a slouched, nervous posture and had her paws clenched near her chest. They were closed and seemed to be trying to hide the claws she must have been embarrassed to show. With a shy and quiet voice that Nick had to strain to hear, she said, "I don't want to hurt anyone, Mr. Talon," looking as though she was on the brink of tears by the end of her words.

Compassionately, Jayson reached out to put a hoof on her shoulder while reassuringly saying, "It's going to be okay." But upon seeing the approaching hoof, she recoiled and stepped back, scared for him as much as for herself.

Jayson looked hurt, but recovered quickly and boldly spoke again. "I know how scared you are, Pauline. But are you ready to shed that _fear_ , and gain the peace of mind of knowing that you are keeping yourself, and those around you, _safe_?"

She nodded her head with a desperate look in her eyes. Jayson used his hoof to motion for her to spin around. When she did so, he walked up behind her, and in the way that a lover might place a necklace upon their spouse, he placed what he was holding around her neck.

Even through the lo-fi speaker in his smart phone, Nick could still make out the distinctive _'click'_ of the clasp as Jayson latched it. The sound made his ears and tail twitch, and it was quickly followed by the ominous whine of a capacitor powering up. The sound triggered a reciprocal buildup of electricity in Nick's spine and as the charging cycle approached its peak, the phone fell from Nick's paw.

His vision had tunneled to near blackness and he could hear no other sound but that deafening electric squeal. There was no longer any air in the van and he fumbled for the door handle in a bid to find some. With difficulty he managed to get it open and fell out into the snow. He clawed his way on all fours through the drift and scurried around to the rear of the vehicle. He leaned his back against the ice-cold door as his hyperventilation marred the frigid air with clouds of condensation and his claws dug into the van's steel; the capacitor's whine continued to deafeningly ring in his ears.

He was sure his sprinting heart was going to explode. No matter how much he panted he couldn't get enough air. He could actually _feel_ something tightening around his neck. He could _feel_ something on his face too… _trust a predator without a muzzle?.._

His vision narrowed even more as something muffled sounded in his ears, past the electric din. He found himself incapable of understanding anything but the panicked terror that was drowning him.

Something hit his chest and he doubled over. The sensation broke the steadiness of the ringing in his ears and as it began to die down, the other sound was becoming a little clearer. He tried to lock in on it as a way to pull himself back. It was saying his name…no, it was shouting his name.

"Nick!" Finnick yelled at him.

Nick's vision began to widen again and he realized he was looking at the ground. He was on all fours and his head was absolutely pounding. He struggled to slow down his anxious panting as the icy air cut at his lungs.

"Nick!" Finnick shouted at him again.

Nick looked up at him, unable to hide the unfettered fear in his eyes.

"Nick, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Finnick asked angrily.

"Muzzles," Nick gasped out between breaths. "They're gonna'...muzzle...us."

The two had never discussed Nick's muzzle anxiety, but if you knew what to look for, it was easy to see the wrinkles in his cool, carefree demeanor whenever the devices were talked about or seen being used. It was subtle, but Finnick had been with him for a very long time; never before had he seen a reaction like this and he now even felt a little sorry for the gut punch he'd just dealt Nick for scratching up his bumper.

"What the hell are you talking about? There wasn't any muzzles on there." Finnick's question blended concerned confusion into his irritation.

Nick continued struggling to regain his breath as he stared at the frosty asphalt and began feeling the snow melt into his fur. Managing to pull himself back together, he pushed up off the ground and stood up. He closed his eyes and used a paw to pinch the bridge of his nose. _In through the snout. Out through the mouth._

After a long moment of controlling his breath, he finally got his composure back. He brushed some of the unmelted snow from his purple shirt and looked down at Finnick.

He let out a sigh with a resigned growl and said, "I know there were no muzzles. But whatever that... _thing..._ was..." He pointed at the van behind him before narrowing his eyes and stating resolutely, "It's worse." With the panic attack over, he was just left with anger that the fennec didn't get it.

Finnick scowled back, annoyed that Nick didn't think he was smart enough to see something that wasn't there. "What are you talking about? They didn't even say what it did yet!"

Nick didn't need to finish the video to know what it did, at least in general. However it _solved the problem_ , it wouldn't be good news for predators. Whatever the unknown, shapeless fear for the future was that his instincts had registered almost two weeks ago, _this_ was it. He didn't know specifically how yet, but _this_ was it. This _thing_ was going to be the shape of things to come. It was going to be the 'mandatory quarantine on predators' that that reporter had asked about back on the day this had all started. It was going to be far worse than the muzzles he so ignorantly thought they'd use.

"I'll show you," Nick growled out as he walked back to the front passenger seat door.

Nick found his phone on the van's floor. The video had automatically paused when it sensed he'd looked away from it and he used a digit to un-pause it.

The camera perspective changed to look at the snow leopard's face. It was pure joy, and tears of that emotion were beginning to stream down her face. A small green light illuminated the greyish white fur around her neck. She turned to Jayson, and this time they both embraced each other.

"How do you feel?" Jayson asked as they released each other.

Pauline sniffled through her tears and wiped a paw at her eye. "It feels wonderful, Mr. Talon!" She heaved another sob. "Thank you!"

Jayson motioned for her to sit down again and then addressed the group. "The rest of you have your own T-A-M-E," he awkwardly pronounced each letter, "Bands under your seat. You may take them out and place them on now." Jayson finished with a smile.

The camera angle went to the remaining eleven predators as they hurriedly opened the boxes they found under their seats.

The camera went back to Jayson and Angie. She smiled and excitedly asked, "So, Jayson, what can you tell us about them?"

"Well Angie, the bands are actually very similar to the health monitoring bracelets that many in the fitness community are already wearing. This band can monitor your heart rate, breathing rate, blood pressure, and all kinds of other stuff. And you can view and sync that data to your phone using the T-A-M-E app." Jayson again clumsily pronounced each letter individually, but every other word he spoke was full of exuberant excitement.

"Like those other fitness bands, we have made special effort to make sure that these are comfortable and stylish." Jayson gestured his hoof back at the eleven mammals who had just received their own devices.

The camera angle switched to a close up of the bands around their necks, each glowing softly green, as Jayson, out of view, kept talking.

"Pauline received one of our luxury models, which features a band made out of stunning gold links, but as you can see here, we have several styles to choose from."

The camera continued to scan past the necks and Nick could see that he wasn't kidding; all twelve bands were different. Several were what appeared to be a rubberized plastic, each in a different color, while others seemed to be a type of woven nylon, each with a unique threading pattern. Besides the one around Pauline's neck, two other predators were sporting bands with metallic links, one silver, and the other a pink that Nick guessed to be rose gold.

"We want to make sure that there is something for everyone. Something that _fits_ you just right," Jayson said.

"That's really impressive Jayson, but I have to ask, how does that protect them from going savage?" Angie voiced her curiosity.

"Well, we still aren't exactly sure what triggers the regression process, but what we do know, is that it is characterized by an excessive and sustained increase in all the vitals that we are able to track. If you are wearing one of these devices, and…and the worst happens…" Jayson paused with a grave look on his face and tried again. "If the worst happens, this device can detect those changes. If it detects that you are going savage, the failsafe will kick in, and, using our proprietary electro-stimulation techniques, it can render you unconscious, and automatically contact the proper authorities, thus ensuring your safety, and the safety of the loved ones around you," Jayson finished with a not quite reassuring smile.

"Did he just fucking say...?" Finnick was cut off by a murderous look from Nick's emerald eyes. They both resumed their quiet viewing of the video.

"That is amazing, Mr. Talon!" Angie spoke excitedly, apparently enough to forget to call him by his first name. "So any predator wearing one of these _bands_ doesn't need to worry about going savage, then?"

"Angie, any predator that wears one of these will be _free_ from the burden of _fear_. They will be _free_ from the _fear_ that they might hurt the ones they love most. They will be _free_ in the knowledge that they are doing their part to keep themselves and everyone around them _safe_. The T-A-M-E Band offers you _freedom_ from the _terror_ that is gripping this city!"

The camera angle panned to the crowd that was standing and cheering loudly.

While they waited for the clapping to stop, Nick used his free paw to reach up and further loosen his tie while Finnick nervously adjusted his shirt collar.

When the clapping died down again, Angie was first to speak, and she did so excitedly, "This is simply incredible, Mr. Talon! I have so many questions! Is this something you can start selling now? What are your plans to get these into the hands of predators that need them?"

Jayson gestured for Pauline to go sit back down and then turned to address Angie as the camera angle tightened back in on them. "These devices are covered by the same patents that our other electronic-stimulation devices are under, so regulations won't be an issue that holds us back from releasing them immediately."

Jayson drew in a steady breath. "Right now we are desperately seeking new manufacturing capacity to make sure that production is not a factor that holds us back, either. We do currently have ten thousand units stockpiled and ready to go. In fact, I am going to make a pledge to Zootopia right now." Jayson looked directly at the camera again, "Those first ten thousand bands are _free_ to the first ten thousand predators that want them!" Jayson exclaimed with confidence.

"Jayson," Angie's tone was some mix of confusion and worry, "there are over three million predators in this city. How are you ever going to make enough for _all_ of them?"

 _And there it is._ Nick's stomach felt gravity flip as his contemplation became gripped by the word _'all'_.

Jayson smiled and gave a short laugh. "Well Angie, Talon Defense only got to where it is today because we have some of the smartest mammals in the world working for us. Ever since the first design came out of our R&D labs, my engineers have been working hard to retrofit several of our main manufacturing facilities to make T-A-M-E Bands."

More so than the object he was naming, the way he unnaturally pronounced each letter individually was getting to Nick more and more each time he said it.

 _It spells 'tame', you bastard. Just say it already. That's what you want to do to us, isn't it? 'Tame' the savage predators; 'all' the savage predators?_

"These bands, and the ones we have stockpiled, came from the first facility that we were able to retool for this project. We have three other locations coming online in a few days, and by the end of next week, we project to have another one-hundred thousand bands ready to ship."

Angie sounded nervously unconvinced. "Mr. Talon, that is still…"

Jayson interrupted her by putting up his hoof. "I know, Angie. That's still nowhere near enough for _all_ the predators in the city." He kept his voice calm. "We are doing all we can to boost our capacity and we are projecting that we can have another million units ready by the end of the quarter."

Angie shook her head as Jayson continued to speak.

"I know you all want an immediate fix for this problem, and believe me, I do too, but right now _this is the best option we have_. I know that the Zootopia Medical Association is working hard to come up with a cure for those already savage, and a way of preventing the regression in the first place. I sincerely hope that they are successful in finding a solution. In fact, with all the biometric data that we are going to be able to share with them, any predator who wears one of these bands will become an invaluable asset in the effort to stop this crisis."

Angie nodded and responded, "What you are doing to help this city is simply incredible. It is such an inspiration to have mammals like you looking out for our city in such a dark time."

Jayson smiled and said simply, "I love Zootopia more than anything; I just want it to be safe again so that others can love it too."

Angie smiled. "I have just one final question for you, Jayson, and I think a lot of our audience is probably eager to hear the answer."

Jayson smiled back. "Of course."

Angie grinned wide and asked excitedly, "How much does this cost?"

Jayson grinned wide. "That is the big question, isn't it?" he said jovially. "Well, the accountants tell me that our cost to make one of the standard models is over two hundred dollars right now. Normally we would price something like this at six or seven hundred dollars, but I refuse to do that to something that is such a _necessity_. We will be selling the entry level T-A-M-E Bands for just ninety-nine dollars."

"Absolutely incredible, Jayson!" Angie yelled over the uproarious applause and cheers from the crowd. The ovation went on for quite a bit and Jayson and Angie just stood smiling the whole time as the camera angle switched between them and sweeping shots of the audience clapping.

When the clamoring died down, Jayson was looking into the camera again with a wide smile and spoke with a jubilance that somehow managed to make Nick feel even _more_ uncomfortable.

"Zootopia, I am excited to announce that Talon Defense has already begun accepting orders for T-A-M-E Bands. Please visit 'talon defense dot com'", the name of the website appeared on the bottom of the screen, "to order your solution to this crisis today, and _take back your life!_ "

There was some more clapping and then Angie, positively beaming, turned to speak with Jayson once more. "Thank you so much for your time today, Jayson. Everything you have shared with us has simply been amazing. You haven't just brought us a real solution to this crisis, you've brought us hope again." Angie finished with a heartfelt smile and reached out to put a hoof on Jayson's shoulder.

Jayson nodded and in a much more calm voice said, "Thank you, Angie. It really means a lot to me to hear you say that."

The deer sighed and said, "Well, do you have anything else you would like to tell Zootopia before we go?"

Jayson nodded and looked into the camera again. He smiled, and took a deep breath before speaking in his boldly confident tenor. "At Talon Defense, our goal is, and always has been, _safety_. Being safe means being _free_ from _fear_. Predators of Zootopia, with the TAME -" Jayson actually pronounced the word proper this time, and to Nick's dismay, it was actually more disconcerting to hear than the initials had been, "- Band, you don't need to be _afraid_ of this city anymore and this city no longer needs to be _afraid_ of you. With the TAME Band, Zootopia welcomes you! With the TAME Band, Zootopia accepts you!"

Angie now looked into the camera as well and smiled before saying, "If that's not _freedom,_ I don't know what is."

The dot at the bottom of the screen got to the extreme right edge of the display, and the video ended.

…

The silence lasted for a long while after the video was completed. Nick was so lost in thought that he hadn't even pulled his arm back and his phone remained in his outstretched paw the whole time.

The absurdity of it was difficult to imagine; Talon Defense was selling _Fox Tasers_ that predators could strap to their necks full-time. More than that, they came in at least twelve different colors and buying one was apparently the bargain of the century.

Had things really gotten so bad so quickly? His instincts had seen _something_ coming almost two weeks ago, but he'd only been guessing at what it might be. Even shapeless, it had still scared him enough to jolt him out of some pretty deep despair and set him on a path towards preparing for whatever _it_ might be. At the time, he'd thought of it as an approaching _storm_. He was sure that that storm had arrived now, because as scared as he'd been when the unknown danger first occurred to him, he was even more scared now that he knew what that danger actually was.

The collars were optional _for now_ , but he was too cynical to believe that this ended any other way then _them_ holding him down and strapping one to his neck; that's how it always ended for him. It wasn't even cynical, it was logical. That bastard caribou had said so himself:

'… _this is the best option we have…'_

The attacks were going to keep happening. How long would the city put up with it? How many more wounded before they couldn't take it anymore? Another hundred? Two hundred? Five hundred? How long until they'd had enough of predators terrorizing the city? It may very well have passed that point already and he realized that there was a much more pertinent question concerning the timeline:

 _How long until 'optional' collars become 'mandatory' collars?_

He stopped short of attempting to answer the question as something else caught his attention. He realized he had done it several times now, even though there had not been any reason why he should have done it at all.

They had called it a _TAME 'Band'_ but he kept thinking of it as a _'collar'_.

 _That's what it is, isn't it? A TAME Collar? Something to keep us savage beasts in line. Something to keep us restrained and under control. And when they've decided that we are too unmanageable, too aggressive, or that they just don't want us around anymore, what then?_

Why had he ever been so concerned about muzzles? Those were passive restraints, they couldn't hurt him, not really. This _thing_ , this _collar_ …they wanted a loaded weapon held to his head at all times.

 _Are we really that dangerous?_

He thought about the body count since this had started, and the conclusion he arrived at was _not_ a 'no'.

 _Am I really that dangerous?_

… _you're not like them…_

 _But who is going to believe that? I don't even believe that._

Nick's fear, now given form, struck at the walls holding back his lonesomeness. The feeling slowly seeped into his awareness as he envisioned having to face this brave new world alone.

… _it would be nice to have a partner…_

 _Yeah… It would have been…_

An alarm chimed on Finnick's phone and the sound pulled the two out of their pensive contemplations. The pawpsicles were frozen and ready to sell.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

I promise this isn't the Collar AU and I promise I **have** stayed and **will continue** to stay  loyal to _**established**_ canon. That's all I am going to say on that.

Business Stuff: I have a pretty thorough background in accounting, finance, and supply chain management but if any of you readers have the same, you may be questioning my credentials after seeing how I described the current state of Talon Defense. If it seemed contradictory, questionably legal, or it didn't make sense why Jayson would make those decisions, I promise it was by design. If you didn't understand it at all, no worries; you are no different than the majority of the Zootopian audience and when it is important to do so, I will make sure it is thoroughly explained, but not in a boring way.

Canon Check: In the movie, during the press conference, you can actually hear a reporter in the background ask "Have you considered a mandatory quarantine on predators." That line was referenced in chapter 2 and again here. It stuck out and stuck with me, and so I've had it do the same with Nick.

A word from one of _my_ founders, Benjamin Franklin: "Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety."

Special thanks to eng050599 and Highwing for helping edit this again! You both do a wonderful job and I am immensely grateful.

eng050599 and I have spent no small amount of time world building and discussing the intricacies of how Zootopia would actually work. I always enjoy bouncing ideas back and forth with him and he has been a lot help with vetting ideas for this fic.

If you like the getting into the details of the world of Zootopia, I highly recommend his fic, Lost Causes and Broken Dreams. He puts a lot of heart into writing characters that are hard to not get attached to and his profession makes him uniquely qualified to add a level of gritty realism and detail that is simply not found in any other fic. I have really enjoyed helping him edit it and really enjoyed working with him in general.

He will collar me if I don't toss in a disclaimer about his fic though: It is not what we would call a happy fic or a fluff fic. The detail and the feels are pretty aggressive and not for the faint of heart. If you are unsure, check out his first chapter or read some of his reviews to see if it is for you.

It can be found on AO3 and FFnet under his user name.


	10. For Your Protection

…

Day 13

…

[znn com/business/zsec-suspends-trading-of-tald-on-the-zse]

:ZSEC Suspends Trading of TALD on the ZSE

 _By Rodney Silfur_

The Zootopia Security and Exchanges Commission (ZSEC) has officially suspended trading of Talon Defense stock (TALD) on the Zootopia Stock Exchange (ZSE). The move came this morning shortly before market open.

This follows yesterday's extreme volatility in the stock after Talon Defense CEO, Jayson Talon, announced the launch of a new product, _TAME Band_ _TM_. Claiming to be the solution to the Savage Crisis, TALD shares spiked throughout yesterday, closing at 317% over open, and triggered an unprecedented 7 trading halts along the way.

Rarely witnessed, trading halts automatically freeze trading for 15 minutes when the price of a stock changes too rapidly. Designed as a way to prevent excessive losses, few realized the mechanism could be triggered for excessive gains. This led to confusion and outrage as traders attempting to take part in the rapid upside found their transactions rejected during the halts.

Any decision to suspend a stock requires ZSEC to investigate the company in question. A lawsuit filed against Jayson Talon for his controversial statements and actions during the crisis is suspected to complicate the inquiry.

In her brief statement earlier this morning, ZSEC Chair-mammal, Elene Hornskey, said, "There is no indication of direct manipulation, but foul play or not, we have a duty to protect the market from herding exuberance."

With the core of the market down and continuing to drop steadily, it is believed that the price spike in TALD was the result of traders searching for a safe haven during the current crisis.

Even while taking record losses, financial disclosures from last year's filings suggest that Talon Defense has enough reserve capital to sustain its current trajectory for years.

Standing at just $74.1 billion three weeks ago, current Talon Defense market capitalization is now frozen at $989.7 billion. With no indication of when or if the suspension will be lifted, owners of TALD are left to wonder if they are holding fortunes or nothing at all.

…

[pouncehart com/opinion/dont-buy-your-own-chains]

:Don't Buy Your Own Chains

 _By Anton Pouncehart_

The whole city watched yesterday as Talon Defense CEO, Jayson Talon, practically cried on national T.V. as he reminisced over the plights of predators in Zootopia.

Are we really supposed to believe that this smarmy buck gives a damn about predators? Under his leadership, Talon products have been absolutely flooding the streets of Zootopia. When is he going to start fawning over the predators being assaulted by mammals using his _defense_ products?

As we reported yesterday, and confirmed this morning, 5 attacks on predators have been carried out using Talon Defense products in the last 2 days. There is nothing defensive about using a _Fox Taser_ to incapacitate a predator innocently walking down the street, then using an entire can of _Fox Away_ on them, and finally beating them to within inches of death. While there are very clear commonalities in the methods and motives of the attacks, the ZPD is still refusing to acknowledge this as a pattern and every other news outlet has yet to report on a single one of these incidents.

Instead of acknowledging that his products are being used for offense as much as they are for defense, Jayson Talon has graced the world with a new one: _TAME Band_ _TM_.

It's been a little over 24 hours since this _revolutionary solution_ has been on the market and while there have been a lot of questions asked about how it works, you can always trust ZNN to leave out the important ones.

How did Talon Defense come up with a solution _so_ _quickly_?

Are we supposed to believe that an old-school defense company was able to concept, design, _test_ , manufacture and bring to market something this high-tech in less than 2 weeks? _Really?_

It's hard to know if the answer to that question is worse than the fact that ZNN has not asked it at all. ZNN has always had negligent reporting in the past, but its performance during this crisis has been downright collusive.

If you were paying attention to the questions answered about _TAME Band_ _TM_ so far, you should be wary of the product. If you were paying attention to the questions not asked, you should be terrified.

I can't remember the last time Chantenay Inc. released a new cPhone or pawPad that didn't have bugs in it, and I have yet to see any other company release a device that was un-hackable. Yet we are supposed to _trust_ a company that has no experience in the tech industry to strap an internet-connected shock collar to our necks? _Really?_

I am not going to say that you should not be scared of recidivism. We still don't know what is causing it, but if you are planning to buy a _TAME Band_ _TM_ because of that fear, you are playing right into their trap.

Wearing one will set you apart and single you out as a formerly dangerous predator, while not wearing one will mark you as a currently dangerous one. Either way, this device has already indelibly marked all predators with a stigma of fear and reason for resentment.

Some of you may be worried that they will make these mandatory one day; they won't, we will do it to ourselves. It won't be long before other mammals greet you by looking at your neck, instead of your eyes, and judging you for what they find there.

This is just another method of control and just because it comes in 20 different colors, and it has an associated app, doesn't make it any less of a form of bondage.

Don't buy your own chains predators.

To the many prey members in this audience, I say to you: reject the _TAME Band_ _TM_. Predators are the focus for now, but don't think that they won't come for you next. This isn't about predator versus prey or us versus them, this is about those in power versus everyone else, and we are _all_ in danger.

…

...

…

Nick was rather dismayed to hear the chirping pings coming from his phone alarm. He would have been more dismayed had it not gone off, though, as he knew the alert gave him a fifteen minute head-start before the next Rainforest District shower was scheduled.

He reached into his pocket to silence it, and reluctantly ran his paws up to his face, under his tortoise shell sunglasses, and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He blinked several times and stretched out his arms and legs, as he got his bearings.

His movement caused his lounge chair to creak and groan as the tree limb it was attached to yawed and swayed faintly beneath the shifting weight. Below that was approximately fifteen hundred feet of freefall. He had no concern about the branch breaking; it wasn't really made out of wood, and even if it had been, his weight was hardly enough to do it in. There was no fear that the chair would fall, either, as he was more than confident in his knotting ability. _I was almost a ranger scout once._

He sat up and looked around at the dense green canopy just below him. Out a ways beyond it, he could see the large synthetic branches of _The Palms_ over Sahara Square. Slightly to his left he could see the skyscrapers of downtown Savannah Central backed by the mountains, and to his right, an afternoon snowstorm over Tundra Town.

The view was definitely what most mammals would consider _pretty_ , perhaps even _romantic_ , but for Nick, it's beauty was derived from its seclusion. From this vantage point, he could see quite a bit of the city, but he couldn't see any of its citizens, and none of them could see him. It was as if he was completely alone and the entire city belonged to him.

It would be so much easier if that's how things really were. The feeling of loneliness itself was so much easier to manage than keeping his mask up. Over the last two weeks he had regained his ability to keep that mask rather flawless, but it still wasn't quite as automatic as it used to be, and it left him exhausted at the end of each day. Just being alone was nearly as restful as the nap he'd just taken and he resented the pending sprinkler spray for disturbing his peace.

He took one last deep breath, held it, and then exhaled it as a huff. He swung his legs over the arm of the chair and climbed onto the branch. The tree limb was rather flat and was not in fact an actual branch at all. It was a synthetic piece of the building that was his apartment complex that was only made to look like a tree. Many, but not all, of the other trees around him were real, and the environmental architects had done a fine job of making it difficult to tell which were which.

He was careful to mind his balance, but unlike his masking ability, that had retained its automation. He hadn't officially grown up in this district, but he had spent quite a bit of his youth here. Contrary to popular belief, most places in the district did not require any special balancing skills to get to, but the _interesting_ places definitely did, and he had perfected the talent long ago.

This was one such interesting place and he had been glad to find it. He couldn't be sure, but it seemed to be a maintenance boom of some kind, perhaps even a crane arm that had been covered up, and the access door he used to get up here had not actually been locked, but rather rusted shut, leading him to believe that this place had been forgotten long ago. While no one had ever disturbed him since he'd been coming here, he still hadn't classified it as _safe_ , at least not like the warehouse was, and even though the sun in this district was always blunted by overcast, though less so at this height, nothing could beat how close it was to his apartment; just a thousand feet of stairs and ladders. It was an effort, but well worth it.

He unsecured the rope holding his chair to the beam and effortlessly converted the length into backpack straps. He donned the cargo and made his way towards the main shaft of the tree.

He climbed down the old rickety rope ladders and pitted concrete stairs, back down into the depths of the city. His mind had been relatively clear, but it began its descent back into thought as well. When he wasn't thinking about nothing, or selling pawpsicles, he was typically consumed with thoughts of the savage crisis; why it was happening, if it would ever stop, if there had been something he could have done about it, and every now and then, whether or not he might be next. After yesterday's _announcement_ , though, his thoughts had been consumed almost entirely by the _collars_ , and whether or not _that_ might be what befell him next.

He still couldn't think of them as _bands_. The word sounded wrong and it wasn't descriptive, it was deceptive. One of the news articles he'd read this morning had called them 'shock collars', which was both conceptually disconcerting to think about, and relieving that he wasn't alone in his thoughts about it.

Though, that report had been a _Pouncehart_ article, and having consensus with the _mad canid_ , as they called him, wasn't exactly proof to society that one wasn't crazy. As with most things in life, Nick wasn't overly concerned with what others thought about the grey-furred journalist, and he suspected that, like him, most of the mammals who followed the snappy commentator didn't make a show of what news sources they were using. Of all the things Nick had read, Pouncehart was about the only one that made any sense.

Just as Nick got to the bottom of the last set of ladders, the sunlight began to dim rapidly, and white noise rose to fill the air. He knew he only had a few more seconds before the water reached him, but he was close enough to the rusted door on the roof proper that he was confident he'd remain dry. Nearly an instant after he'd closed the door behind him, rain started its pitter-patter against the steel roof of the access hatch.

While he made his way down the steps, he considered the possibility that the mainstream sentiment about Pouncehart was correct and that perhaps crazy foxes always found each other sane. Even if he was crazed, he decided that he wasn't any more so than the rest of the city, not with their TAME _Collars_ and savages, and he saw no reason he should change his news strategy now. In fact, the only thing he could personally identify about Pouncehart that was crazy, was just how right on the mark he usually was. Nick's instinctual craving for as much information as possible had a caveat desire for accurate information as well, and his fellow fox wasn't wrong about the sizable omissions in ZNN's coverage. Though, Nick had decided, he would maybe leave the speculation and theorization as to _why_ those gaps existed to the professionals.

Nick strolled down the hallway toward his apartment. He was about to dig his keys out of his pocket when a red slip of paper, scotch-taped to his door, caught his green eyes.

 _Damn…_

He abandoned the retrieving of his keys and reached up to grab the note instead. He unfolded and stared at it.

 _Notice to All Predatory Tenants_

 _Rent will be increased by $500 per month, effective immediately._

 _The increase is to pay for predation insurance. Please pay the amount in full or be moved out by the end of the week._

 _Thank You :)_

At the bottom of the note, penciled in very tiny letters that he had to squint to make out, Nick found a post script:

 _If you stay, yours is due by tomorrow and in full at the beginning of each month after._

Nick growled at the door as his paw clenched into a fist, crushing the paper and piercing it with his claws.

"By tomorrow, Mr. Wilde!" came a tiny shout from the end of the hall.

Nick turned to look for the source, anger still shaking his clenched fist. It was his landlord, Mr. Pruitt. The mouse must have been waiting for him to return to make sure that he saw it. The rodent wasn't alone, his escort a fiercely tusked warthog, but Nick didn't care as he approached with a snarl.

"No extensions, Mr. Wilde," the mouse said diminutively.

Nick had never asked for an extension on anything in his life. He didn't need this rodent's charity and he'd never asked for it.

Looking down at the mouse, he opened his paw, the paper sticking to his claws. He smoothed the note, and held it out.

" _Predation_ insurance?" Nick asked with skeptical annoyance.

"In case you go savage," Mr. Pruitt said resolutely.

Nick brushed away his anger and stood up tall and straight and crossed his arms. "What company is holding the policy?" Nick asked smugly, with his sly half-lidded grin. He knew a hustle when he saw one.

The mouse's face went cross and Nick thought he'd caught him in the lie until the escort spoke in a deep and menacing tone, "You pay or you move out, _fox._ "

Nick's eyes went to the hog and he kept them there, staring as uncaring as ever, as he stuffed the paper into his pocket and retrieved his wallet. He didn't break eye contact as he pawed through the bill fold, counting by touch. He removed only five notes and placed the wallet back where he found it.

It would be a cold day in Sahara Square before he caved to intimidation like this. It was clear their intention was to get him to leave; they didn't actually want him to pay the money, and the best way to stick it to them, was to pay anyway, on time and without complaint, regardless of his real feelings on the matter.

Finally breaking eye contact with the pig, he bent down and handed the five one-hundred dollar notes to his landlord.

"I don't need an extension, but thanks for the offer," he said contemptuously, through his fanged smile.

The mouse accepted the relatively oversized bills awkwardly and seemed to be disappointed to do so. Nick stood up and turned around to go back to his door.

"Have a good day now!" he said as he opened it and stepped inside.

…

Nick stood just inside the door to his apartment and closed his eyes. It wasn't this one thing, he couldn't really give a damn how much his rent was at this point; it was everything else. Every little thing in the city, every little moment of the day, all conspiring against him, always. All because of what he was. He still couldn't help but think that, in some way, he deserved all this, that it was right to punish him for being a fox, but that didn't change how completely exhausting it was.

He put his paws to his eyes and rubbed them as he took a deep breath.

 _Can I just have one day? Please…_

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Thanks for reading! I know this was a short one, but there is another longer chapter on the horizon very soon. It is practically done already but I wanted to space it out so that there was not a large gap over the holidays.

Market talk:

'herding exuberance' - this is meant to be a play on 'irrational exuberance' which is a term coined by former Federal Reserve Board chairman, Alan Greenspan when he was describing how overvalued the stock market was during the dot-com bubble in the 1990s. (What he failed to mention was that his monetary policy is the reason there was a bubble in the first place, but I digress).

While it is (theoretically) irrational for humans to participate in 'group think' about the value of a stock and follow what others are doing instead of coming up with our own independent conclusions, it would be perfectly rational for some groups of animals (anthros) to do it. Herding instinct would play even more havoc with their markets then it does in ours, and they would likely have similar safeguards in place to protect against it.

Trading halts and suspensions are about what they sound like and how they are described in the article. If you want to know more, they are fairly common terms to search and I won't bore you with the details here.

Market Capitalization - This is the total value of all the stock on the market for a particular company. Believe it or not, there are several companies that have market caps that high right now. Typically these types of companies would never see a spike like this, but Zootopia is in a very atypical time right now and the herding mentality of traders is amplifying everything.

If you don't understand any of this, that's fine, just understand that there is a LOT of money changing paws right now (but it's not nearly as fun to just write it like that!).

Chantenay Inc. - Chantenay is a very common type of carrot. I was going to use 'Carrot' as a stand in for 'Apple', but Judy's nickname makes it confusing for this fandom. I thank eng050599 for pointing that out and suggesting I change it.

Nick and his rent… Poor fox… If you remember from the second chapter, 'Day 1', it was stated that Nick pays $100 per week (instead of the $400 per month that other tenants pay) making his rent roughly $433 a month (on average) making this new $500 charge a 115% increase in his rent.

It was hinted at here, but the next chapter will have a few more details on Nick's specific financial situation.

Life sucks for predators and it's only going to get worse; thanks Judy!

Thanks again for your readership! I promise the next one will be out very soon!

Special thanks to eng050599 and Highwing for editing this again! I continue to appreciate your insights and recommendations throughout this project!


	11. Big Offer

…

Day 16

…

[ZNN BREAKING ALERT: Rainforest District Stalked by Savage Duo]

Nick pawed blindly at the counter and felt around for his keys as his eyes had their attention directed at the ZNN alert. Finding them, he made his way to the door while he continued to scan the article for any details that might indicate which particular location of the Rainforest District was at risk.

With his district already the largest in the city, based on area, and the multi-layered vertical design of the region making it feel even larger, chances were good that he was not currently in the danger zone. Even if he was, his misfortunes were usually much more diabolical and deliberately inflicted; he doubted luck would let him off with something as simple and random as being mauled by a savage beast.

With his focus still engrossed in his phone, he stepped into the hall and turned to close the door. Satisfied that he had gleaned all he could from the device, he put it back in his pocket, then used his key to lock the apartment before turning back around.

Nick gasped as his heart skipped and his whole body reflexively tensed in startled surprise.

His assumed layout of the hallway had apparently been in error, because as he had turned from the door, his snout collided with something it hadn't expected to be there. The unanticipated barrier was a padded wall of dense muscle.

After the initial shock, he quickly realized that no harder impact was coming and his body began to relax. He slowly opened one of the eyes that he had clenched shut and could see that the thing he had bumped into was covered in dark, pinstriped, navy blue fabric. Letting his eye follow it to the ground, he saw that it was being held aloft by a white-furred hind paw with digits tipped by razor-sharp black claws. His heart sank as he opened his other eye and slowly raised his head to look above him.

He tried to force a wry grin over his anxious eyes and gave a nervous chuckle. "Heyyy," he stretched out the word in a failed attempt to sound casual, "Kevin…" He let the greeting and his frantic smirk hang as he tried in vain to think of something else to say.

The polar bear looked back down on him with stern eyes, unmoved by his apparent fright. Nick quickly switched his thoughts from finding something else to say, to figuring out how he might escape, but the intention was interrupted by something in his peripheral at the end of the hallway. The attempted façade on his face fell and his features drooped as his posture and tail did the same. Raymond was here too, and one way or the other, he was going with them.

…

In contrast to the manner in which he had been _taken_ to see Mr. Big two weeks ago, Kevin and Raymond had not lain a paw on Nick this whole time. He suspected that their gentleness would be subject to change if he decided not to comply with their silent instruction to follow them, but it seemed that he wasn't necessarily in trouble... _yet_ , at the very least.

Mr. Big's bag-bears sat on either side of Nick in the limo, as they presumably headed towards Tundra Town. He tried to decide if the extra room he had to himself this time was worth the tradeoff of being alone. Coming to no conclusion on the matter, he decided that his preference was to not be in the back of Mr. Big's limo in the first place, and he instead tried to figure out why he found himself back here again.

There were a number of reasons why, but he suspected, and feared, that it had something to do with last week's harassment of Koslov about the rugs, and he now very much regretted his decision to pursue money so lustfully. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't going to be a quick hello-goodbye type of thing or Mr. Big would not have bothered with summoning him for it.

Slowly and cautiously, Nick reached for his pocket and pulled out his phone. Kevin looked down at him and was positioned in such a way as to easily see the screen. It didn't matter, Nick had nothing nefarious planned and he even tilted the device a bit so that his captor could get an even better view as his pad print unlocked it. He tapped the text message icon and then selected Finnick's thread.

[Nick: im not going to make it today]

The message sent and he could see an animated ellipsis indicating that Finnick was typing a reply, but then the glyph disappeared and no response came. Nick took that as a type of response in its own right, and sighed as he put the device back in his pocket.

…

Raymond politely opened the door to the study and beckoned Nick to enter. Nick did so cautiously, but under his own power, and walked towards the desk as he nervously surveyed the dim and chilly room.

In front of the desk, over the ice-door, sat a chair. He walked to it, but was hesitant to take a seat until Kevin pointed at it with a look of firm insistence on his face. The realization that it would be more difficult to ice him with the chair covering the frigid depths brushed away some of his reluctance to accept the offer.

As he took his seat, he noted and appreciated that the chair was appropriately sized for him. It was the collective plight of small and large mammals alike that they were constantly required to uncomfortably adapt to the more common-sized objects of medium mammals. The considerate gesture seemed a good tone to start the meeting out with, but Nick's attempt at a relaxed smile just barely managed to cover how nervous he actually was.

As worn iron hinges at the edge of the room creaked open and Mr. Big's entourage began their procession in, Nick resolved that he would stay quiet this time. He still hoped that he wasn't exactly in trouble, but speaking with his usual flippant mannerisms may very well dig him a hole that had freezing water at the bottom of it. Perhaps the most important skill of a smooth talker, such as himself, was to know when not to talk at all.

Koslov, last through the door, ducked his head as he entered the room. He lumbered towards the back side of the desk, the old wooden floor creaking and groaning under his weight, and sat down with a thud.

Nick braced himself to keep his composure as the giant folded white paws on the table opened to reveal the back of a tiny executive's chair. Delicate claws spun the chair around to reveal the arctic shrew that commanded fear and respect across the city.

Remembering the proper, and _silent_ , greeting this time, Nick immediately stood up, gently took Mr. Big's paw on one of his digit pads, and used his lips to make contact with the diamond atop the mobster's ring.

Nick stepped back and stood at attention with the hint of a hopeful smile on his face.

"Sit down, Nicky," the small crime lord commanded.

Nick did so, and kept his expression cool and calm, while managing to avoid his usual smugness. His goal was not to impress Mr. Big, nor show disinterest. Neither strategy would be effective against him, and Nick merely wanted to convey that he was utterly indifferent to the situation. It was true that he hadn't done anything wrong...well, he was at least _pretty_ sure of that anyways, but with the consequences so _grave_ , it would be a lie to say that he wasn't worried about it.

Mr. Big spoke in his weary, rasping tone. "I want to know about Manches."

Nick had been trying his best to not give much thought to that night, nor the following day, since they'd occurred, and even when he had, Manches hadn't exactly been at the top of the list. Now that the panther was his focus, Nick really wasn't sure how to answer. In a way, he wanted someone to tell him about Manches too because the more he thought about it, the less he understood it. The pieces just didn't make sense in retrospect, but now wasn't going to be his chance to resolve those mysteries.

"Uh, what do you want to know?" Nick asked uneasily. He wasn't exactly sure what Mr. Big was looking for, and it _chilled_ him to think of the consequences that giving a wrong answer might have.

Mr. Big cleared his throat and crossed his arms. "I don't like repeating myself, Nicky. I want to know why my driver went insane after I sent _you_ to see him."

Panic tried to force past Nick's mask at the implication that Manches going savage was somehow his fault. This was going to go far worse than he'd ever imagined, and his mind raced to find him a way out of it.

He'd never had a problem running the tables on mammals during everyday street life, but he'd had very little practice using those skills when his survival was at stake, and Mr. Big was in a whole other league compared to his normal quarry. There was no time to build a narrative around it; the event was too complicated and he didn't know if Mr. Big already had any of the details.

In all honesty, he knew he didn't need to lie. He hadn't actually done anything to Manches, and he shook off the notion that he needed to find a story that was more believable than the truth. Mr. Big wasn't going to ice him in disbelief simply because he was a fox. The shrew was more equal opportunity than that, and if Nick was going to get iced for something, it was going to be for something of his own doing. With all other options coming up short, the only one he had left was the truth.

As his mind frantically struggled to figure out what that truth was, his mask began to slip. His eyes widened and hinted at the fright the nervousness inside him had turned into. He had a sense that his time was running short, too short to explain a series of events that he didn't fully understand himself.

Feeling the threat of imminent icing upon him, only one fact seemed to sum up the experience and convey his innocence.

He put his paw to his chest and stammered out, "I-I didn't do anything to him, I-I swear!"

Mr. Big calmly responded to the frantic fox, "Nicky, if I thought that you were responsible for all this, you would be under that floorboard right now, not on it." Mr. Big finished the comment by pointing at the floor beneath Nick. "Now, I told you and that bunny where to find Manches, and so far as I can tell, you were the last ones to see him. Then the next day, there she is, on TV, starting riots, and I find out that he has gone completely insane. You were at the center of all this, Nicky, so explain to me what happened."

The understanding that he was no longer a potential suspect in the matter eased his mind greatly. He regathered himself and tried to formulate a more methodical response.

Unlike when Finnick had asked him at _Dusky's_ , he wasn't going to be able to leave out the parts about Judy. The events he'd shared with her were both the most memorable experiences of his life, and the most painful.

He started with his and Judy's departure from the wedding and systematically chronicled his way through the short discussion with Manches, the chase, and the confrontation with the ZPD. It hadn't even been on purpose that he skipped directly to the discovery of the traffic-camera footage in city hall; the memory of what happened during the interim was still too painful to be relived, and subconscious dissonance had managed to splice together the adjacent events in such a way that the memory of the sky-tram ride was not required to keep the narrative contiguous. From there, it was on to the break-in at Cliffside, the discovery of the savages, the arrests, and of course, the infamous press conference.

Prior to now, his only interaction with those memories had been via the associated emotional maelstroms that followed some kind of triggering event. Purposefully focusing on only the facts of the recollections had made it much easier to recall the experiences without the threat of a breakdown.

Throughout his testimony, he had regained the demeanor he wished to convey, calm and innocent, and he concluded with a somewhat disheartened, "I, uh…think you know what happened next."

Nick had lost track of how long he'd been talking, but Mr. Big had intently listened to him in silence the whole time. The shrew nodded his head and gave a contemplative hum. "Yes, yes."

The shrews shrouding eyebrows covered his eyes most of the time, as they were doing now, but Nick could still feel them boring into his fur and analyzing him.

Silence wasn't something that Nick particularly enjoyed. Some mammals, like Mr. Big, were adept at reading the silence, and using it to gain insight into others, but Nick's methods of manipulating and interpreting situations relied heavily on exchanges of information. Mr. Big's quiet gaze at him was a _type_ of information, just like Finnick's typing of an unsent message, but it wasn't of the kind that he could easily decipher. As Nick's calmed demeanor began decaying back into anxiety, he resolved to attempt forcing the situation back into something he could work with.

With a nervous grin and a note of purposeful submissive shyness in his voice, Nick ventured to break the silence. "Is there, um, anything else you wanted to know?"

The shrew adjusted himself in his chair. In his slow, measured cadence, Mr. Big responded, "Are you hard up for cash, Nicky?"

Nick hadn't been prepared for the sudden change in topic and his eyes autonomicly flicked up to the ceiling for an instant as he tried to parse the question. His analysis brought back several interpretations of the non-sequitur.

At first, he thought his answer was 'no' for the sheer purpose of not wanting to show weakness. His answer was still a 'no' when he did a mental tabulation of his financial situation; he had actually been doing quite well for himself these past two weeks and even before then, he hadn't been doing bad at all. Iterating a little deeper into the question, he considered the reasons he had been doing so well for himself recently; he needed more money before the _storm_ really hit, a storm that would cut off his income, and possible much more. Integrating that into his analysis, he considered that possibly his answer _was_ a 'yes'. Being that it was perhaps not a 'no', he recurred back to his original interpretation: just saying 'no' to avoid showing weakness.

He had forgotten how difficult Mr. Big was to read. It usually hadn't been an issue when Nick knew him as a rug salesfox, as he had done well at staying on the crime lord's good side. Now that his standing was a little more ambiguous, it was proving quite the burden for him to outfox the shrew. Like the icy walls of the shaft beneath him, Mr. Big's own mask offered nothing that could be grabbed hold of, or leveraged for advantage.

He still wanted to say 'no', but his fear for the future panged at him, past any fear of being iced, and reminded him of what his need for the money was. He _had_ been foolish to risk calling Mr. Big last week when he had done it merely out of foolhardy bravado, but now that he knew what the risk was, what _their_ plans for him were, it would be foolish to pass up the opportunity outright.

All of this had run through his mind during the instant that it took his eyes to flick to the ceiling and then back down to Mr. Big. It was his final conclusion that he needed more information about why the question had been asked. Warily, he inquired, "Um, why do you ask?"

"You offered to sell me rugs, Nicky." The shrew gestured annoyance with his body language and tone of voice that the point should have been obvious.

Nick realized that it should have been, and the overlooked answer highlighted to him just how off-balance Mr. Big had him. He needed to calm down and focus before his anxiety over being iced became the reason that he was.

Mr. Big continued on, saying, "You're not that stupid. So you were either very drunk, or very desperate. Which was it?"

Nick let a small, sly smirk form as his mind finally calculated an answer that was simultaneously true, not a show of weakness, and didn't eliminate the possibility of any opportunities that Mr. Big had in mind. He gave a short chuckle and shrugged his shoulders. "Eh, you know me, always the entrepreneur." He finished with a cheery grin that he hoped would break the tension that had been in the room since he'd arrived.

Mr. Big leaned back in his chair and hummed in contemplation again. "Yes, you are, aren't you," he said rhetorically.

Nick kept grinning in hopes that he had thawed the icy atmosphere while Mr. Big leaned forward in preparation for a further response.

Simply and directly, he said, "I want to buy your warehouse."

Nick had a much more difficult time processing this one. He scoured his mind for context that could relate the words 'buy', 'your', and 'warehouse' to anything that pertained to him. The only thing he could come up with was… _How does he know about that?_

The revelation that his sanctuary had been discovered left him feeling exposed and violated. The calm merriment on his face drained away as the façade he had up began to falter again. He swallowed hard and considered his options.

He couldn't actually give up the one place that he felt safe in, could he? Was it even his to give up? What did Mr. Big want with it, anyways? It was practically rubble as it was.

Unfortunately, Nick knew these considerations were ultimately moot; what he sought it for and how he knew about it was not important, Mr. Big had said that he wanted it, and it was rare that the crime boss of Tundra Town didn't get what he wanted. Nick realized that he was trapped here and that he would be forced to make a decision, one way or the other. Ironically, the one place he now desperately wished to be, was the one place he had just been asked to give up.

He tried to buy more time so he could think. "My…warehouse?" he said with deliberate and cautious confusion.

"I know that you have a warehouse and I also know that you don't really own it, on paper at least. Technically the city owns it and I could just buy it from them. I invited you here as a courtesy." Mr. Big kept his tone as calm and relaxed as ever.

Nick put a lot of effort into masking his emotional state. He had hardly visited the place in years, but these past weeks…he wouldn't have survived without it. The thought of losing it frightened him deeply. It was just a crumbling old building, but it was practically the only thing he had left, the only thing he could rely on. He couldn't just give it up…or let someone take it from him.

He wanted to keep it, but from the sounds of it, his desires wouldn't have a lot of impact on Mr. Big's ability to take if from him. He was being backed into a corner and predatory aggression started to build in preparation for a fight.

He narrowed his eyes slightly and in a lower, more serious voice, said, "And what if I say no?"

Nick heard the wooden floors grumble around the room as the many polar bear guards shifted their weight, but he didn't break his steely gaze at the rodent.

Mr. Big put up a paw and the creaking around the room fell to silence once more. "Were you aware that I knew your father?"

The rogue question broke Nick's concentration and stern expression; Mr. Big was really keeping him on his claws today with the rapid topic changes. He cocked his head and ears a little and responded with a bewildered, "No?"

Mr. Big gave a smile fitting of his name. "Ah, Johnny Wilde."

Nick hadn't heard another mammal mention his father's name in a very long time. The continuous subject changes that he had been trying to keep track of had him off-guard and unprepared for something so personal.

The mention hadn't triggered any outpouring of unbearable loneliness or sense of abandonment. His feelings about John had been properly stowed away a long time ago, but he knew the feelings were still there, somewhere, and that was sad enough in its own right. His paws had been folded in his lap this whole time and he looked down at them now as his ears drooped; any sentiment of his aggression a moment ago had been wiped clean and replaced with an unwanted introspection of the variety that he usually tried so hard to avoid.

Mr. Big continued to speak in a tone that suggested that his memories of John were much more fond. "Some mammals might have called him a good _fox_ , or even a good _predator_ , but I always thought of him as a good _mammal_. Straight-laced as they came, smart, genuinely kind, he was type of mammal others wanted to be around, the type that others wanted to follow. He was driven and capable in the way that few mammals ever are."

Nick continued to stare at his paws while he regulated how much emotion to allow himself as he absorbed what was being said. He knew in his heart that it was all true, but he had only ever heard these _facts_ from family members. Hearing them from an outside source, from someone like Mr. Big, reaffirmed exactly how much he had lost when his father died.

"It was easy to see from the first moment I met him. He was about the same age as you were when we met. Both of you trying to sell me something." The shrew chortled a bit and shook his head in amusement at the memories. "He sure was talented, though. Made me this suit, made all my suits."

Nick brought his eyes up slightly, his head and ears still mostly down, and examined the suit. He hadn't known that it was his father's handiwork. It made sense that other mammals in the world still had items that he'd made, but Nick had never before considered that any of them, other than himself, still wore any of it.

Nick looked back down and Mr. Big continued speaking.

"I wanted him to come work for me. He was a great leader, but he was too idealistic. 'Honest John' they called him. He said he wouldn't be able to do the things I would ask him to do, especially not with a kit on the way." Nick ignored the reference to himself and Mr. Big progressed past it unfazed as well. "Most mammals wouldn't tell me no, but he wasn't most mammals. I respected him for that. I respected him a lot for that. It's one of the reasons I bought him that warehouse."

Nick looked up fully this time, confusion marring his face. As evident from the repositioning of his now upright ears, the rodent had his full attention.

"Ah, you didn't know that either, did you?" Mr. Big kept his tone light and reminiscent.

Nick slowly shook his head no.

"He was quite the entrepreneur too; it's obvious you get that from him." The latter part hung in Nick's heart unwelcomely as Mr. Big went on. "He started helping around a tailor shop when he was a kit. Eventually became a tailor himself. It was never enough for him, though, he was never satisfied. He bought that shop, ran it himself for a few years, still, wasn't good enough. He was always dreaming; bigger, better, _more_." The shrew sighed. "He wanted to expand, but…Nicky, if you think it's hard being a fox today…" Mr. Big looked down at his own paws and shook his head sadly before looking back up. "He never let that get in the way of anything, though. He never even let it slow him down. He tried every bank in the city, twice. That type of tenacity...I didn't need to see any statements or business plans to know that he was a good bet. But he wouldn't take my money!"

Nick was only sidelong listening to Mr. Big's telling of how, after John had refused a loan, he'd convinced the fox to attend a friendly game of poker and tricked him into accepting the help that he needed. The rest of Nick's focus wasn't on anything else in particular, he just knew that focusing too much on how great a fox his dad was, how great his dad's accomplishments had been compared to his own, wasn't going to lead him anywhere he wanted to be right now.

Where he did want to be right now, was back in his father's office, where he could be alone and rest his mind. A run, or maybe a few hours sunning himself silly would be nice, too. Anywhere but here.

Mr. Big finished the telling with a description of how upon victory, John had only picked up the key from the center of the table, utterly ignoring the mound of chips, and had to be reminded to take the rest of his winnings when it became clear that his focus wouldn't return to the game on its own.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Nick asked, growing weary of waiting to freeze to death or having his refuge stolen from him; they'd feel about the same, he estimated, and he decided it would be better to just get on with it.

"Your father was one of a kind, Nicky. I wanted him to work for me because I wanted to be a part of what he could become. That wasn't the life he wanted, though. I still wanted to see him succeed, so few mammals deserve it; he did. When you came to my door all those years ago, I saw a bit of him in you. I saw your potential, I still see it. I think…" The shrew trailed off in thought for a second. "I think if things had been different, you could have been a great leader and builder, too. I don't just want your warehouse, Nicky, I want _you_ ," Mr. Big finished decisively and pointed his paw at Nick.

Nick's body mimicked how taken aback he was and with confused surprise he sat up straight and pointed to himself as he said, "Me?"

The shrew nodded. "You see the city, don't you?"

The question was so vague on its own, but the last couple weeks had colored every mammal in Zootopia with a shared context. Nick knew exactly what he meant by it and nodded in response.

"How do you feel about having one of those _bands_ around your neck?" the shrew inquired.

Nick's ears had heard the word as spoken, but his subconscious had transposed the word 'band' with 'collar', and from the tone, he knew that Mr. Big had made the connection as well. It sent a chill through his spine that caused him to shiver slightly and he shook his head.

"I thought as much. I don't know what's coming next, but we… _predators_ , we need to be ready." Mr. Big's voice was getting gentler and more weary as he spoke.

"Ready for what?" Nick asked, nervous that he already knew what the answer was. A part of him had hoped that his paranoia was just in his head, that the future wasn't as bleak as it seemed, but if Mr. Big could see it, too…

"You're smart enough to see it on your own, Nicky, I know you are. When it gets here, I am going to need leaders, builders, and thinkers. I am going to need good mammals like you if we are going to make it through this." There was sincere resolve in the shrew's voice.

Nick couldn't believe what he was hearing. He lied to himself about his own emotions and who he was all the time, but he never did that with the facts of the world around him. It was why he was so good at seeing all the angles, figuring out how things worked, and figuring out how to make them work for him.

He could see what Mr. Big was talking about, and it didn't make sense to pretend that he didn't, but it still sounded _foolish_ to put it into words. "Are…are you talking about some kind of… _resistance_?" Nick asked disbelievingly.

Mr. Big laughed a bit and Nick regretted his answer; it must have been wrong and he felt stupid for saying it, but then the crime lord spoke again.

"If that's what you want to call it." Mr. Big smiled at the very confused, now slightly frightened fox.

"Against what?" Nick asked skeptically. He hadn't ever considered that he might be able to _stop_ it, merely that he wanted to _survive_ it.

"I didn't get to where I am today without reading the signs of what the future holds." The shrew's oblique response produced some annoyance in Nick. "At first I thought they were targeting me. First Otterton, then Manches; both so close to me. Otterton had something important he wanted to tell me. I don't believe it was a coincidence that Manches went savage right before he was about to tell you something, too. I had some of my mammals start investigating the threat. It's clear that this crisis isn't just targeting me, it's targeting _all_ predators."

Mr. Big had captured Nick's interest, the same way that Judy had when they were first investigating this. The mysteries, the clues, how it all fit together; it was irresistible to his quick and clever mind. Against his better instinct, his foxy curiosity won out and he warily asked, "Do you know what's causing this?"

Mr. Big completely ignored the question and proceeded in his calm, somniferous voice that dominated the conversation. "You're about as well connected as they come, Nicky; everyone knows you. You might not realize it, but on some level, they trust you, even if they don't know why. You're quick, smart, and charismatic. You're resourceful and you get things done. You're someone they would follow. I need all claws on deck for this, Nicky...help me fight this," Mr. Big said imploringly.

Crestfallen, none of the words rang true for Nick. He knew that, deep down, he was the opposite of every accolade he'd just been given. Maybe Mr. Big had been hustled by his personality, or was just wishing to see his father once more. Either way, Nick wasn't the mammal he was looking for.

 _I am a fox._

Foxes weren't leaders of resistance packs, and they weren't trustworthy allies. He couldn't possibly accept this offer. He wasn't any of the things Mr. Big was looking for and pretending otherwise would only lead to disappointment, failure, and possibly much worse. He was finished lying to himself about who and what he was, and he was finished with lying to others about it, too.

He looked back down at his paws.

 _I am the worst fox. I am shifty and untrustworthy. I don't belong in a pack._

He spoke slowly and mournfully. "I…I'm not a leader, Mr. Big. I'm...not like my father."

Mr. Big sighed. "You disappoint me, Nicky. You can see right through everyone else, but can't even get past your own reflection. You're smart enough to see what's coming, but dumb enough to think you can survive it on your own."

Nick kept looking at his paws. He resolved his seriousness about not wanting any part of this. This meeting had only served to pull at old wounds and attempt to inflict new ones. He'd had enough. "Can I go now?" he grumbled out.

"How many rugs do you have?" The arctic rodent asked, coldly indifferent to Nick's unanswered question.

Nick looked back up at him. His eyes squinted in confusion at another topic change. Attempting to out-think Mr. Big's motives had proven fruitless so far, so he thought about the question honestly. "Umm… Like sixty or seventy?"

Mr. Big looked at one of the bears at the edge of the room and nodded. Nick's head followed the sound of creaking floorboards towards the bear that had been the recipient of the instruction. Nick tensed in alarm that icing might be back on the docket as the bear approached.

The white mass stood next to him and Nick regarded him with wide frightful eyes and low ears. The bear bent down to get closer to the fox's level, then lifted a briefcase that Nick hadn't noticed him carrying. The case lay proffered on the massive outstretched paw while the other opened it to reveal the contents inside.

More fright, not surprise, widened Nick's eyes as his body wriggled as close to the edge of his seat as was possible without falling out. His ears raised back to their attentiveness as he quickly looked back to Mr. Big and swallowed hard, leaving his muzzle gaping in disbelief.

"That's forty thousand. Is that enough for all of them?" asked Mr. Big said calmly.

Nick had lost the battle of trying to hide his emotions long ago and he left his expression the way it was as he dumped all of his effort into deciding if he should accept or not.

How could he possibly say no? Compared to the previous offer, this was more than reasonable and the offence of saying no a second time would likely land him several feet below his current position. But how could he say yes? What future favor or debt would he owe the moufia?

The actual value of the briefcase played very little into his decision-making processes. As he weighed the short-term benefits of saying yes, principally not being iced or worse, against the long-term benefit of not owing an ambiguous favor to the crime lord of Tundra Town if he said no, he realized that there wasn't much choice here at all and slowly he nodded his head.

The case next to him slammed shut, causing him to jump and swivel his head to look at it. Mr. Big spoke again and he frantically snapped his head back to the shrew. He tried to keep control of his breath as his heart pounded in his chest.

"I hope you don't have to, Nicky, but I think you will be back here again. I want you to know, you are always welcome here. Predators have some difficult times ahead and we cannot afford to be against each other. My offer will stand and I hope you give it some thought. I want you to use that money to survive until you come to your senses."

…

Nick sat at his father's desk and stared at the open briefcase. Forty thousand dollars in crisp twenties stared back at him. Each green stack consisted of one hundred tightly bound notes. The case was perfectly sized to snugly accommodate the rectangular arrangement of two stacks by five stacks, two layers deep.

Nick reached out and gingerly ran his pads across the surface of his new fortune. The tactile contact gave him a tingle; something analogue to the sensation of safety that this room gave him.

The tingle soured and his fur bristled at a sudden urge to survey the room. He looked around and there was nothing there, obviously, but his nervousness remained. Conditioning dictated that there had to be something bad for him on the horizon.

Before he'd been chauffeured back here, Mr. Big had assured him that there was no strings nor favors attached to the money, it was in fair compensation for the rugs and some benevolent notion of preserving a wayward fox for a rainy day.

If one thing could be guaranteed, it was Mr. Big's word, and if his word was that the sale was final, then… Nick wanted to say that he believed it, but he didn't.

It was a lot of money, over half a year's take at the old pawpsicle rate. In theory, he didn't actually need it. Foxes had had so many rainy days throughout evolution, that saving for the bad times was hard-coded into their DNA. In reality, he had quite the stash of savings in reserve. More than Mr. Big knew, more than anyone knew; perhaps a few multiples of what was here in front of him. The case certainly wasn't worthless, though; he was forecasting quite a bit of rain in the near future, but it would still be quite a while until he would need to spend this _new_ money, at least he hoped, anyways. When that day came, he would have to re-evaluate the situation, but for now, he would leave it in a safe place and pretend it didn't exist.

He continued to stare at the money and tried to put out of his mind all the things Mr. Big had dredged up.

Maybe a few weeks ago he could have gotten himself to believe that he was anything like his father. It would have been as false then as it was now, but he could have at least lied to himself about it. Maybe in some other universe he was the fox Mr. Big was looking for. Someone that was a builder, a trustworthy leader that others looked up to, and a fighter against the system. Not here, though. Here he was still the worst of the foxes.

He didn't belong in a pack, especially not as the leader of one. It would only have been a matter of time before he betrayed or hurt one of them, or worse, until they did the same to him. It was safer for everyone if he stayed on his own.

He wasn't sure if he'd rather go on that run or catch a few late afternoon rays, but he was sure that he wanted this event behind him as soon as possible. He closed the case, his sharp ears catching the crisp click and resulting echo of the latch as it locked.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

If you will remember all the way back to chapter 1:

" _The property had been abandoned long before he was born and it had changed hands as often as the paper that paid for it. The last and final deed holder had won it in a poker match some twenty eight years ago. John Wilde had never been much for gambling but on that particular occasion the mammal who was both dealer and previous owner assured him it would be worth his while."_

It was also stated here that the building had passed to the city as no one paid the property tax after John's death.

It is on purpose that there are echoes of the collar au starting to show through. It is very interesting seeing the abandoned canon from that place because you get to see Nick in two very different places. Collar Nick was a builder and a leader, self centered yes, but he built Wilde Times, and that is quite the accomplishment.

Our Nick is capable of that too, he was just never pushed as hard in the much gentler universe that we find him in. It is an interesting question that a lot of us might be interested to know about ourselves; how much would it take before you fought back? For Nick, just being harassed as a fox is not enough. It is at some point between that and the collars, that he's willing to fight back against the system, to build an underground amusement park, and stop just putting up with 'that's just the way things are'.

Fox Fact: Foxes are actually prolific savers. They are one of the only mammals that hides and saves food for later use.

Thanks eng050599 for editing this again!


	12. Supplying Demand

…

Day 19

…

[znn com/breaking-alerts/rss/]

-ZPD: False Savage Reportings are Slowing Response Time

-First Savage Related Death Reported at Zootopia General

-By the Numbers: New Record of 7 Attacks Today, 63 Attacks Total, 167 Wounded, 129 Critical, 1 Dead

-ZPD Locks Down Fountain Square, Protests Move to Barricaded Perimeter

-Overtime Caps Suspended in ALL ZPD and ZFD Precincts

-Talon Defense Ships First 5000 TAME Bands Despite Stock Lockout

...

[pouncehart com/headlines/rss/]

-Attacks on Predators Increasing in Frequency

-How Safe is the TAME Band™?

-Democracy Takes Backseat as Fear Fastracks 'Hayworth Proposals'

...

It was a rather twisted irony that Bellwether now found herself taking painstakingly elaborate measures to conceal her movements. Three weeks ago she could have shouted 'Death to all predators!' over the PA in City Hall and no one would have even realized she'd spoken. Now with more power than she had ever thought possible, she was trapped under the attentive, watchful eyes of everyone curious as to what she was going to do with it next. Hardly a single moment of her day wasn't under the scrutiny of some potential enemy or hopeful ally. Each searching for an instant of weakness that they could capitalize on, and it was all she could do to make sure they found none.

Perhaps it was paranoia; she doubted that anyone was actually watching her at this very second, but the consequences of being exposed were far too great for her not to take precautions. That was why she now found herself switching cars in a dingy maintenance tunnel inside one of the climate walls. It was the perfect blind spot to make the transfer and she nodded at her double, Dolly or something she thought the name was, it was far too difficult to keep track of _every_ sheep under her command, as they switched cars. Hers would be driven back to her abode in the meadowlands and any potential surveillance would simply see a sheep that looked like her enter her house, fall asleep and then drive back to City Hall in the morning. Whereupon, this same switch would take place in reverse.

The vehicle she entered was nothing like the modest sabal sedan she left behind. The soft, dark faux leather seat invited her in with its warm luxury, and automatically adjusted several of its proportions to fit her frame. In the past, she might have thought of this experience as a special treat, but right now, she couldn't help but get the feeling that this was just a taste of all the things to come.

"We will arrive in about thirty minutes, Miss," said the equine driver calmly as he dropped the jet black cruiser into gear.

The drive was smooth, silent, and relaxing. When she wasn't continuously being bombarded by some committee needing something or another about a road, or some reporter wanting a statement on the very chaos that she was responsible for, not that they would ever know the truth of it, she was very busy implementing and managing that chaos. It was anything but easy to do both and she had hardly slept a wink since she'd taken office. Tonight was likely going to take a similar turn, and she let her mind become blank as she watched the majesty of the highland forest under the setting sun rush past her window.

…

The car continued up the long, winding and steeply graded drive edged by freshly-scented pines. After another ten minutes of climbing the mountain, the road finally leveled out into a personalized cul-de-sac, centered by an ostentatious fountain, and surrounded by a mansion of impressive proportions. Contrasting the spruce greens it was surrounded by, the pink-orange glow from the sunset seemed held aloft by the massive catrinthian pillars that framed the entrance to the white stone facing.

The vehicle came to a gentle stop and her door was opened by a kangaroo that had been waiting for her. The marsupial was dressed in a well-fitted black tuxedo and offered her his paw. She took it and stepped out onto the cobblestone pavement.

"Welcome, madam Bellwether," her escort said softly. "If you would please follow me, he has been expecting you."

She hadn't expected the formality, but it was appreciated as she continued to muse that perhaps, when she finished with her work, it would always be like this for her. Maybe the servants would even be of a different variety of mammal and perhaps they would even have something slightly more _entertaining_ than a crisp black bowtie around their necks as they waited on her.

The massive oak double doors were tall enough for any giraffe she knew to walk through without hindrance and they swung silently on their hinges as she approached. They must have been automated in some fashion because neither she, her escort, nor anyone visible had done anything obvious to cause their opening.

Light from the antechamber inside spilled out onto the path ahead of her as if eager to be the first to invite her in. She followed its beckoning, up steps appropriately sized for her, and then trod across the threshold.

The municipal buildings she was so used to occupying were anything but austere, but this place was opulence incarnate. The carrara marble floors refracted light emanating from crystal chandeliers affixed to vaulted ceilings and softly lit the crimson banners, and detailed oil portraits, each depicting a different, yet similarly distinguished-looking and lavishly dressed caribou, spaced alternatingly along the white slate walls. Some distance from where she had entered, two wood banister staircases arced from a second floor mezzanine down to ground level and between the landings stood their owner, Jayson Talon the Third.

"Our other guest will be arriving momentarily, though you may continue on if you like." The kangaroo gently spoke and gestured with a bow towards the place where the stairs met.

"Thank you," she said with a slight nod and then started the walk to meet her host.

She corresponded with Jayson all the time, and had even met with him in mammal on a few occasions, but she had never been to his mansion before. It was quite breathtaking and the show of wealth was almost enough to make her forget who was in charge of whom; _almost_.

"Welcome, Dawn!" Jayson said excitedly as he opened his arms in greeting as she approached.

"Hello, Jayson," she replied with a happy smile.

When she reached him he bent down and they embraced as old friends. He kissed the air to either side of her cheeks, stood back up and then smiled, saying, "May I just say, you are looking absolutely beautiful this evening, Dawn."

"Oh, thank you, Jayson!" Bellwether beamed at the compliment. You are looking quite dapper yourself this evening, Jayson," she finished, returning the plesentry.

The caribou chuckled good-naturedly. "I thank you. So, how was your trip?" he inquired.

"Oh, it was lovely!" she said graciously. "It is so beautiful up here! Honestly, thank you for setting this up."

"It was really no problem, and I'm glad it was so enjoyable for you," he said genuinely. "I only have to show up in the public eye as rumor and gossip, you have to be out in front of it every day; tonight is the least I could do." He smiled warmly at her.

Any response she might have had was interrupted by echoes of clopping as their third guest approached them from the entrance she'd just arrived through.

"Ah, and there's our other media sensation now," Jayson said enthusiastically as Kyle Hayworth trotted towards them, the handsome Clydesdale still sharply dressed in his ivory suit.

Bellwether awaited her steed and felt anxious excitement as he approached. While both Kyle and Jayson had been part of the same cell, _her_ cell, for over a year now, they had never before met in the flesh. There weren't any guidelines preventing their meeting, it was just that necessity had never required it, and it was safer to be seen together as little as possible.

They had each worked so hard to get to where they were now, and while it seemed that they were so close to the finish line, the final stretch would push each of them to their limits. It had been a welcome gesture from Jayson to offer his estate for a night in which they might briefly escape the city they were trying to conquer. Being able to drop their guard and enjoy each other's company as their true selves, would serve as a needed morale boost and a reminder of what it was they were fighting for.

"Kyle, I have heard so much about you. Welcome!" Jayson said with firm eagerness as he extended his hoof in greeting.

"Thank you for having me, Mr. Talon," Kyle's deep voice drawled as he accepted the greeting and touched Jayson's wrist with his.

Kyle's voice had been calm, but Bellwether knew his speaking patterns all too well and she easily recognized the nervousness that he was trying to hide. The things that made Kyle nervous were few and far between, and she felt an upswell of anticipation for watching these two interact tonight. They were going to get to know quite a bit about each other this evening as they bonded and that would make their team all the more effective moving forward.

"Alright," Jayson clapped his hooves together as he addressed his two guests, "let's get started, then. My chef has a fine dinner planned for us this evening, after which, the estate has any number of offerings to assist us in our rest and relaxation. Sound good?"

Kyle nodded and Dawn said, "Lead the way!"

Jayson guided the group down a long hallway, past several large rooms of unknown purpose, to an even larger dining hall deep within the residence. At the center of the space sat a triangular-shaped table made from a dark stained mahogany, featuring a silver three-tined crown as the center piece. To the right of each seat, stood one of Talon's servants and at the border of the room stood several more.

It was clear whose chair was for whom based on the size and as Bellwether approached hers, she was greeted by a low bow from a tuxedoed deer who pulled the seat out for her. She sat down and was maneuvered into place at the same time as her companions.

It was hard to not notice the fine panda-made porcelain dinnerware and she suspected that the utensils were not merely gold-plated, but rather pure all the way through.

"Again, thank you so much for having us, Jayson," Bellwether said charmingly.

"Well, of course!" Jayson said excitedly. "How could I miss this chance to have both our current _and_ future mayor here as my guests?"

Kyle grinned a bit bashfully and Bellwether smiled to herself at how even her always-confident steed found himself taken in by Jayson's charm.

"Well, the pleasure is all ours, really," Dawn said to him sincerely.

"Yes, this was a vary generous offer, Mr. Talon," Kyle chipped in.

Jayson looked the horse in the eyes and shook his head. "Now Kyle, don't let all this fool you," he waved expansively to the room, "you and I are equals in this cell; you call me Jayson. Even if we weren't, I would insist on it anyways." The caribou smiled at him.

Kyle nodded and said hesitantly, "Alright…Jayson."

"That's better, see?" Jayson said jovially.

Kyle nodded again and smiled. "So, Jayson, in that interview, did you mean what you said about your father then? That he was a good mammal?"

"Oh, I'm sure others thought so," Jayson sighed, "But not in the way that _we_ might think of it." He gestured to the table with a smirk. "His ideas were a little too…" he searched for a word, " _progressive_ ; I always thought of granddad as my real father, anyways." He smiled in reverie for a second before he abruptly added, "I guess that's why I wasn't that torn up after _they_ crashed his plane."

Bellwether chuckled a bit as she saw Kyle's dark eyes go wide. She would never have chosen him if she thought any of this was more than he could handle, but it was entertaining to her to watch the comparatively young colt realize exactly what type of flock he had signed himself up for. She found it even more enjoyable that the look of surprise in his face was not that of shock that they would be willing to go that far, but that of excitement that they already had.

Jayson smiled and leaned across the table to put his hoof on Kyle's. He looked him right in the eye and said softly, "Anything for _The_ _Purpose_. Right, Kyle?"

The horse grinned genuinely and nodded his head, "Of course."

"Good!" Jayson exulted. He leaned back in his chair, raised his hoof, and snapped his digits.

Immediately the action triggered three of the servants guarding the perimeter to action. Dawn looked up as a gazelle stepped beside her and poured her a glass of wine. Other prey servants were doing the same for Kyle and Jayson, but their liquid was of a dark amber.

Jayson raised his glass. "To my father," he said confidently as he looked at Dawn and then to Kyle before finishing the toast in a deviously sardonic tone, "May his sacrifice not have been in vain." He extended his arm out a little further then brought the glass to his lips. Bellwether's sip was somewhat smaller than his, while Kyle's was considerably larger.

"It's a shame he couldn't see that incredible performance you pulled off the other day," Bellwether said with a smile. "Your grandfather, that is," she added with a sly nod of her head as she took another sip of wine.

"That was really something," said Kyle, authentically impressed as well. "If I didn't know any better, I would have believed every word you said."

"Well," Jayson said knowingly, "the secret is that it was mostly true. Minus a few sentiments about the wellbeing of predators, of course." He smiled devilishly.

"You know what really sold it? That hug," Bellwether said as she giggled.

Kyle shook his head with amusement as well. "Yeah, I can't believe you actually let one of those things touch you like that."

"It was a shame, really; that was one of my favorite suits." Jayson mockingly shook his head at the memory.

"Oh, yeah? What did you end up doing with it?" Kyle asked.

"Incinerator, of course," Jayson responded bluntly.

All three broke out into laughter.

Kyle recovered first. The joke was funny, but he wasn't entirely convinced and semi-rhetorically asked, "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Have you ever tried getting feline hair out of a jacket? It's impossible. It's completely filthy how much they shed." There was bile in his words and Jayson took another drink to wash the acrid taste back down.

Kyle smiled in genuine delight. It was a rare treat to be able to speak so openly and he reveled the moment with another drink, himself. Bellwether took the opportunity to inject her own point.

"Tell me about it..." she said despairingly. The reminder of who occupied her office previously elicited another laugh from Jayson. "Still, as disgusting as it is occupying that pompous, shedding fleabag's office, it's better than my old office. There was a fox in there almost three weeks ago now, and it _still_ reeks," Bellwether added haughtily.

"Thankfully we don't have any _pelts_ musking up corporate," Jayson said with relief evident in his voice. "It's not even policy, just none applied for the j-job." Jayson barely finished his sentence as he started laughing again.

"I wonder why?" Kyle said as he put a hoof to his angular jaw in pseudo bemusement.

"I can't imagine any would even be qualified for a job there, anyhow," Bellwether said merrily as she took another sip of her wine.

Each laughed again.

"So, how is business going, Jayson?" Kyle asked and then finished the amber contents of his glass.

A servant from the edge of the room walked to refill it as Jayson replied. "Well, it's been a little rocky with the stock freeze. It happened slightly sooner than I anticipated but everything was already in place and ready for it. The legal action from the shareholders has been a real _Makers_ send. It's going to take them _years_ to get through my lawyers and even longer for ZSEC to untangle the mess they're making. Far more than enough to keep everyone occupied while the rest of the plan falls into place," he finished by giving an insightful smile to Dawn.

"And what is the rest of the plan?" Kyle asked, then, so as to not sound ignorant, he clarified, "For your company, that is." Up until now, he had really only been aware of his part, and was ravenously curious to know more about how it fit into the whole.

"Ah, I don't want to bore you with the specifics this early in the night. Besides, I am much more interested to hear what you have been up to," Jayson said with genuine interest. "Who writes your speeches, by the way? That candidacy announcement was superbly delivered."

Bellwether chuckled a bit. "Our stud is the full package, Jayson. He writes all his own speeches and I never know what he's going to say next." She smiled at Kyle as if to give him permission or encouragement, perhaps both, to continue answering the question on his own.

Kyle went on to describe that his curfew legislation was well on the road to being passed in a few weeks and explained how it would pave the way for more _predatory_ legislation to be introduced next month. That suite would include such things as anti-growling regulations, and pack size limits as well as the beginnings of what amounted to apartheid legalization, and other predator-specific ordinances. He didn't expect much resistance from the other city councilors, not with the crisis and all, but he had quite a few plans for how to maneuver each into their proper place, if needed.

Kyle finished his explanation with, "Everything is being crafted and spun to fit under the theme of 'trying to protect predators from being confused with savages.'"

"Aren't we all?" Jayson said with a smile. The reference to his own contributions thus far further lightened the mood.

"Well, that is _The_ _Purpose_ , isn't it?" Kyle grinned.

"That all sounds great; really stupendous, Kyle. I had no doubt you knew how to pull your weight, but I had no idea you were doing so much behind the scenes." Jayson grinned. He turned to Bellwether and said dismissively as though the comment were entirely throwaway, "I don't think he's going to have to put on much of an act when he takes over Talon."

Kyle squinted his eyes a bit in confusion and looked to Bellwether.

She took another sip of wine and smiled at him. Reassuringly, she said, "Maybe that is something we can get to _after_ dinner," taking another sip as she moved her eyes to Jayson.

"My apologies," Jayson said, a tad embarrassed. "I guess I got a bit caught up in all this." He smiled and raised his hoof to snap his digits again.

A ballet of servants processed in from every side of the table and after a short minute of commotion, elegant tossed salads, appropriate to each mammal's tastes, lay before them.

After a few minutes of grazing and complementing the cuisine, Bellwether's clutch purse buzzed and she unzipped it to remove her phone. The alert had been caused by the reception of a new priority marked email. She selected it and waited a brief moment for it to download the attachment.

"Oh!" she exclaimed cheerily as her heart warmed at the sight of the image that had just loaded. Her companions looked up at her and she slid the device over to Jayson first. "Isn't she just the sweetest thing?" Bellwether cooed.

Jayson laughed a bit as he reviewed the poster of ZPD Officer Judy Hopps. The bunny had a defiant look in her eye and was backed by the city's magnificent skyline.

"Quite a spitfire, that one," Jayson said as he passed the device to Kyle.

Kyle nodded in agreement and as he returned the phone to her, he asked, "Did you know she was going to kick all this off?"

Bellwether accepted the device and shook her head. "No, I had no idea!"

It was true, too. Bellwether had had no idea that Judy Hopps would be the key to defining such a distinct starting point for the crisis. The plan had always been to succeed Leodor after what was projected to be a rather _messy_ incident involving a blue pellet and some of Kyle's rival counselors, but the clean break that Judy had provided was better than anything she could have ever planned. That bunny had simultaneously removed all barriers for her rise to mayor, and inspired the entire city with fear of predators, all after less than three days on the force.

"You ever think about bringing her in?" Jayson inquired.

"No," Dawn said regretfully. "She is just too valuable the way she is; just so genuine and innocent. Besides, I really don't think she has the stomach for this sort of thing, she's too _by-the-book_."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to re-write the book for her, then," Kyle smiled as he took another bite of his steamed root medley.

"I don't think she'll have any trouble following it when we do; so long as it's wrapped with good intentions, she won't question a thing," Bellwether said. "At any rate, she is doing just fine at helping the cause where she is; we've already had a huge increase in prey applications at the ZPD and this campaign," Dawn pointed at her phone, "is going to boost that to the point where we can rotate every chomper off the force by the end of the year."

Kyle swallowed and said, "She really has done a lot to bond the public over anti-predator sentiment; I've heard more than a few constituents talking about her. She makes them feel safe and they really do look up to her." He looked to Bellwether, then asked, "Do you think she would endorse me?"

"I think I could get her to, but we'll hold off on that until we're closer to the election," Bellwether responded.

The group continued their meal and passingly discussed methods for getting predators out of the ZPD faster, and justifications for barring future entry to the force. The second course came and conversation slowly shifted to how that might be accomplished within the city government at large and by the time the third course came around the conversation had morphed into pure fantasizing about what it would be like when the purge was complete.

It had been a long time since Bellwether had been able to speak so unguarded like this and it was just so relaxing to do so. It was clear how much the rest of her flock was enjoying themselves, too. Throughout the rest of the night, each would have their own reminders as to why they were here, but this taste of what it would be like when they finished was hers.

"Another toast!" Jayson exclaimed.

Each raised their glass again and Jayson made the proclamation: "To Mayor Hayworth. To his bloody rise, and his _tame_ reign."

…

Dawn reclined in the pool chair a short distance from the edge of the hot tub. She wasn't quite out of earshot of her males, but just far enough that she wasn't an active part of their conversation. She knew rather intimately the details of what they were discussing, a good fraction of it had even been her idea, but it was important for their bonding process to relay the information to each other themselves rather than to just hear it from her directly.

It was good to see Kyle, already so dominant himself, talking to Jayson as a mentor. Kyle was sharp, but he still had a lot to learn and so few mammals fit the bill to teach him. She was, of course, still his leader, but the type of guidance that he needed required a more masculine touch, and she had no qualms with admitting that, nor with letting it happen. This night had been mostly for their benefit, anyways, but anything that benefited them, benefited her as well.

This flock was so different than the other sheep gangs that reported to her. Her bands of thugs were little more than hoofs on the ground terrorizing predators and making sure the city had a nucleus around which more natural anti-predator sentiments could form. They hardly understood what they were doing, and they required continuous guidance.

Kyle and Jayson, on the other hoof, while still responding to her orders, brought their own experiences and perspectives to the table and that gave them an independence that was much more useful to both her and the cause. Allowing them to learn from each other would strengthen them, and in turn, strengthen her.

As suspected, she had enjoyed watching their interactions here tonight. As good as it was for Kyle to have someone else to learn from, it was good for Jayson to have someone else to teach.

While the Talons had been an integral family in _The Purpose_ for centuries, since the beginning even, the most recent generation had seen Jayson's two fawns, his only offspring, perish in a tragic sailing accident. Given their economic standing, the split from his mate that followed had been relatively amicable and in the more than twenty years since, Jayson had solemnly remained the last in the Talon line to carry the family crown.

Perhaps when things calmed down he would finally be able to find someone he could breed an heir with, but Bellwether presumed that he was still too full of grief to go through with it. It was even a bit admirable that Jayson was continuing on with the plan even without progeny to live in the new world he was forging; he was a _true believer_ and his motivation was only the pure intention of knowing that this was the _right_ thing to do. Either way, Kyle, the first of the Hayworths to be invited in, was making a good surrogate scion for him, and Bellwether was pretty sure that this was the first time Jayson had been this genuinely animated in years.

Where Kyle was concerned, it had actually been a happy coincidence that she had selected him as her replacement on City Council. It had been clear right away how talented he was, and early last year she'd endeavored to bring him more fully into the fold. To her delight, the Hayworths had been on _their_ radar for the last half century, and now seemed as good a time as any to bring one in.

She took another sip of her wine, and then leaned back in her chair to take in the twinkling stars over the crisp night sky as the oldest and newest lineages bonded over plotting their contributions to _The Purpose_.

…

Kyle and Jayson chewed on their cigars and sipped on their scotch as they talked. Both mammals were rather impressed with the other's accomplishments but it was clear to each who was the more eager to learn from whom, and the horse listened intently as the business buck explained to him the subtle differences between market manipulators and legal legislators.

"Well, it's actually quite a good thing that they froze us out of the market," Jayson explained, "With no buying or selling on every whisper of speculation, there will be no panic, no exuberance, no choice in the matter at all when I take action. ZSEC has given me a rare gift: _time_."

"How so?" Kyle asked as he took another sizeable gulp from his glass.

"While the suspension is in place, anything I do will have zero impact on the visible stock value of the company. Traders can, of course, speculate that it is going up or down, and believe me they will, but without actually trading it, the true value will remain hidden. I can do whatever I want, free from visible consequences on the market, and free from the burden of answering to the other shareholders." At this, Jayson let out a quick snicker before continuing, "Who, from my understanding, are quite busy trying to figure out how to pay the lawyers they have coming after me when sizeable chunks of their portfolios are frozen." Jayson gave an amused grin as he finished.

"And what do you plan to do with that extra time? Does it have anything to do with what you were talking about earlier, about me running things?" As Kyle asked, he snuck a brief glance at his sheep commander; she was laying down, not paying any mind to them, and he was hopeful that he would finally get the answers he was after. He knew the plan was as expansive as it was elaborate, and up until a few weeks ago, he had been uncharacteristically patient in focusing only on his own part and trusting that he'd be told more when the time was right. Now that things had really kicked off, he felt that that time was now, and he was tired of waiting.

"I assume they still teach at least some economics at _Hayyard_?" Jayson asked.

Kyle smiled wryly. "You… You went to _Hayyard_?"

"Do you bleed crimson?" Jayson asked.

"Only for the glory," the horse had a wide smile as he responded to the centuries old countersign of their mutual alma mater.

Jayson went on to describe how the basics of supply and demand related to their current scenario, and how just a little creative application of their principles would go a long way towards achieving their, or rather, ' _The' Purpose_.

Naturally, Kyle already understood the cleverness of slashing the prices of Talon products during a time in which there was such a high demand for them. The last weeks had seen to it that the city was completely packed with both anti-predator weapons and anti-predator sentiment. The tension was already spurring to action some of the sparks that the group was looking for, and it was only a matter of time before the whole city went up in flames, perhaps even in the literal sense.

It also served an important psychological role, as well: the more often that prey carried arms, the more they would come to believe that they needed to, and the only reason to believe that you needed defense against predators, was that predators were inherently dangerous. It was a self-reinforcing ideal that over time would grow and push at the boundaries of what was considered _acceptable_. In fact, it was that new limit on what was _normal_ that was even now driving support of Kyle's upcoming legislation. Legislation that would, in turn, both consolidate their current position, and push at the borders of societal norms even harder until the goal line of open predator oppression had been reached, perhaps even further than that if _The Purpose_ so desired it.

"Mammals of all stripes have only ever demanded one thing, and the pursuit of it is why we have all this," Jayson waved out to the city lights far in the distance below them, " _Civilization._ It's everything they've ever wanted, or so they think. At the end of the day, everything they do down there is in the pursuit of money. For what, though? So they can buy a white picket house on the corner, drive fancy sports cars, put food on their tables? No. They are all just looking for safety, but money has been the equivalent for so long that they've forgotten the difference."

" _She_ ," Jayson pointed at their shepherding sheep with a hoof as he took a swig from the glass in his other, "she is reminding them that money and safety are two separate things. With all the chaos and the danger she is supplying, they are realizing that money is no longer a substitute for having protection, and with that realization comes the revelation of their actual desire: _safety_. And that is something that only _we_ ," he reached out to put his hoof on Kyle's shoulder, "are capable of satisfying. Or at least that's what they'll believe, and with how much pandemonium she is ramming into their lives, their demand is getting pretty high, and you know what happens to price when there's high demand."

"It goes up," Kyle said in his confident drawl.

"And when the supply is low?" Jayson quizzed.

"It goes up more," Kyle smiled and took another drink.

"So what exactly do you suppose we should charge for something as precious as safety?" Jayson looked Kyle intently in the eye.

Kyle racked his scotch-soaked brain as he contemplated the question. He was sure the answer wasn't as obvious as a dollar amount, and he felt the oddest imperative to have a response that impressed the mammal in front of him. He ventured out a reply he thought would suffice: "Any price we want."

"But what do we want, Kyle?" Jayson leaned in to look him in the eyes more deeply.

Kyle could feel himself being analyzed and he realized what a copout his previous answer had been. Honesty had been the theme all night, so he stopped trying to be impressive, and thought about the question truthfully. After a long few seconds, he said, "Power."

"That's it, now you're getting it." Jayson again pointed out to the city lights with the hoof that wasn't on Kyle's shoulder. "But they don't have any power to give us, do they?"

"No?" Kyle said, somewhat confused. It was a rather simple question and it was obvious what the correct answer was, but he'd given it before he'd really considered what had been asked. Thinking about it, it made sense that they didn't have any power, but he'd never thought of it like that before. How could he get power from those who had none?

"What do they have to offer us, then?" Jayson kept up his interrogation.

Kyle considered it. He was a council-mammal. He had always thought of it as the electorate giving him power, but as Jayson had just pointed out, they had none to give. What did they give him, then? He had power, he exercised it all the time, but where had it come from?

Kyle took slightly longer to think this question over, but Jayson waited patiently until he saw the light in the horse's eye signifying he had found the answer. Kyle smiled, and assertively said, "Control."

Jayson smiled at the answer and relaxed back into the bubbling hot spring water and laid his head back to look at the stars. With calm disinterest, he said, "Ten percent of all the predators in the city offered to give me their _liberty_ this week. Three-hundred thousand pre-orders for _safety_. Three-hundred thousand predators, desperate to submit themselves to my will. Desperate to trust that I'll take care of them. All desperate for the _chance_ to feel _safe_."

"Not too bad for a buck running his company into the ground," Kyle laughed.

Jayson laughed too, then jovially said, "Well, you wanted to know how you fit into all of this, didn't you?"

Kyle had almost forgotten his original question. After the rather novel revelations on the nature of power he'd just received, it seemed like such a long time ago that he'd asked. He nodded with intent interest as he finished his glass. A servant was walking to replace it, but he waved them off.

Jayson grinned. "I only have the power to accept liberty from predators if they are willing to give it to me. _You,_ " Jayson pointed at Kyle again to drive home the point, "have the power to _seize_ liberty from predators if the prey voters are willing to _demand_ that you take it." Jayson leaned forward again but he already had Kyle's full attention, "If three-hundred thousand chompers were willing to give up their own liberty to feel safe, how many prey do you think would be willing to give up the liberty of the other ninety percent to feel some safety of their own?"

"It doesn't matter," Kyle said defiantly, "we only need half of them to do it. Just a simple majority."

Jayson smiled and was excited to see the wheels of devious creativity turning in the mind of his new protégé.

"Only you, Kyle," Jayson pointed again, "the _politician_ , can take those things." In a solemn tone of mock resentment he put his hoof back on his chest, "I can only try to convince them that my idea is something worth buying into, but at the end of the day, it's their choice. Your ideas, they're law. They don't have a choice but to _buy into it_ , lest the ZPD comes knocking on their door."

Kyle continued to smile, trying to absorb and not get lost in the simplicity of it. None of the ideas were new to him, per say; they were in fact philosophies that had already shaped his beliefs and worldviews long ago. But knowing something intrinsically was different than hearing someone put the doctrines into words. Knowing the truth and understanding why it was true were separate things and the distinction made the difference between merely having a beneficial way of thinking, and having a truly powerful _weapon_ that could be wielded and controlled.

"You said it yourself: I'm running my company into the ground." Jayson switched his tone to bombastic sarcasm, "It's clear that I have no idea what I am doing; three-hundred thousand pre-orders? Talon hasn't even made twenty thousand units yet, and that's including those ten thousand we made _two months ago._ I'm just not a competent enough leader to run Talon Defense anymore. The company is going to fail under my leadership. It won't be able to deliver the _safety_ that is _demanded_ from it. 'But Talon Defense is _too important_ _to fail_ ' _,_ they'll say. 'Something ought to be done about it', they'll say. And they'll look to you, the only one who can do something about it. It won't take much to get them to realize it; hell, that bunny only needed thirty seconds to mainstream the term _savages_ and normalize the labeling of predators as _primitives_. A small throwaway comment here, or a misspoken word there; the media will replay it over and over again until the city believes that _you_ are the _only_ one that can fix it, and then they'll call on you to do it the only way a politician can; you can't make solutions on your own, but you can confiscate them from others, if they exist. We've worked very hard to make sure that there is only one solution to this crisis: TAME Band. And they'll send you to take it from me, because I don't know what I'm doing with it. 'Take it from him', they'll say, 'It's the only way to keep us _safe!_ '"

Kyle could see it so clearly he thought it must have already happened. The political game was his specialty and what Jayson had described was the only inevitable outcome. It would require fear and desperation, but the city already had plenty of that; more than enough to accomplish what had just been described.

Jayson sighed and relaxed himself before speaking again, "To make up for my tragic failures, and to continue my role as eccentric philanthropist, my final act as board chairmammal will be to issue a new lot of special preferred stock, worth fifty-one percent voting rights, _for_ _free_. You'll still keep me on as CEO, but by the end of this calendar year, the city of Zootopia will be board chair and majority voter of Talon Defense Industries, and you'll be mayor of Zootopia."

Kyle had been following the political maneuvering rather effortlessly, but the corporate scheming of the last part was not exactly in his field of expertise. Drawing on skepticism from the legal background he did have, he responded, "You can't just issue new stock like that, can you?"

"Normally no, but Talon Defense has been a cog in _The Purpose_ for quite some time now, and grandad penned some special provisions into the charter for just this sort of occasion," Jayson explained.

"I mean, I know the plan has been to mandate _banding_ since the beginning, right?" Kyle asked hesitantly, then reluctantly answered his own question with, "But I can do that without running Talon. Couldn't I?" It was clear to Kyle that he was missing something here. He worried that the late hour, and possibly the alcohol, was what clouded his mind but he suspected that his misunderstanding was more due to the information that was still shrouded from him.

"Well, of course you can, but you can't mandate that I make them faster, unless you control the company. And I'm telling you, I can't make _this model_ any faster." Jayson smiled sardonically. The horse still seemed to not understand it, so he switched angles. "Do you have any idea how much TAME Bands are going for on the streets right now?"

Kyle shook his head with confusion. "I thought they were ninety-nine dollars."

Jayson grinned wide. "That's what _I_ am selling them for. But with such high demand, and so few bands, it was only natural that a grey market would crop up. That, and the fact that three quarters of the devices we've shipped so far haven't even gone to preds." He blew air out his nostrils as he chortled a bit at the thought.

"So, the chompers aren't even getting them?" Kyle asked, perplexed.

"On the contrary! They're getting them alright, just not from me," Jayson said with a sly smirk. "They are buying them from resellers who aren't worried about being labeled profiteers, like I supposedly am."

"How much are _they_ selling them for?" Kyle asked, intrigued at the concept.

"One of her gangs is consistently pulling as much as fifteen hundred a piece." Jayson smirked as he watched the horse tally the numbers.

"That's…" Kyle trailed off, thinking he must be wrong.

"Potentially millions," Jayson finished for him. "Straight into the pockets of her flock. Organized chaos isn't cheap, you know. This price hurdle also ensures that only our more elite chompers are able to wear them at first. Average preds will see their rich and famous counterparts wearing them, and that will spur more demand down the ranks; it always does."

Kyle shook his head and tried to make sense of it. "Isn't that all going to come to an end if I force faster production and the shortage goes away?"

"Exactly," Jayson said resolutely.

The thirty-point stared at the Clydesdale as he took a long moment to work it out for himself. When he did, he spoke methodically, "The shortage of bands and crime in the grey markets is going to be my justification to mandate that you make them faster." Even more slowly he spoke an addendum he'd just derived himself. "To stop prey from price gouging, I can check the Predator Registry against your sales data to make sure that only the _right_ mammals are getting them...and we can use that register as a checklist once it's mandatory."

Jayson smiled wide and leaned in to place a hoof on Kyle's shoulder. "Don't ever doubt yourself, Kyle. You got quite a head on those broad shoulders of yours." He leaned back into the water and asked, "Now, I think you've had enough mystery and self-discovery for one night. What other questions do you have? Anything."

Kyle relaxed at the open invitation. The first inquiry that came to mind was clarification on what they had just discussed. "You said that you can't make them any faster. I assume there is a way to force you to?"

"Well, you see, the reason the bands are so difficult to make is that they are just so damn complicated. It has so many sensors gathering data, processors interpreting data, memory storing data, receivers and transmitters connecting to phones to share that data! There is so much data these days. The software, the apps, the servers." Jayson was full of sardonic glee as he made the listing.

Kyle smiled and said candidly, "Sounds like you need a simpler version, then."

"Ah, how right you are," Jayson said satirically. "It just so happens that my engineers, pressed for time of course, didn't design the shocking mechanism at all, it's the _exact_ same part as what goes into our Fox Tasers. We have hundreds of thousands of those parts in inventory and manufacturing capacity for millions more. It's all those damn _smart_ features that are bottlenecking production." Jayson smiled, then added, "That, and those ridiculous fashion bands they come with."

Kyle snorted a bit of a chuckle and said blithely, "You should find simpler parts, then. We don't need something fancy, we need something safe."

Jayson continued his satirical narration of the situation. "You know, now that you mention it, I seem to remember a much simpler version coming across my desk a few months ago," Jayson mockingly cleared his throat, "Eh-um, I mean a few _days_ ago, of course."

"Of course," Kyle agreed with amusement.

"The control chip in that one was rather modest in comparison; just the pulse slash breath rate monitor, and a simple threshold register for the various shock levels." As a simulated afterthought, Jayson added, "Oh, and a GPS tracker, obviously."

"Obviously," Kyle agreed. "You know, I may just be a politician, but that all sounds like more than enough to get the job done to me."

Jayson replied with mock sadness in his voice, "Yes, but the rather inexpensive black Kevlar they wanted to use for the strap seemed a little too austere for my tastes, and the simplicity of the design meant that the locking mechanism required a physical key to take it off." Feigning shock, Jayson said, "An actual key, can you imagine that?!"

Kyle smirked deviously, "What do they need a key for when wearing one is mandatory?"

"You mean that you want these locked to their necks at all times?" Jayson asked scandalously. "Why, that's just heartless!"

"More heartless than leaving the whole city at risk?" Kyle responded. "If this is the only way for all of us to be _safe_ , then it would be heartless to not do it."

Jayson smiled and the two continued talking in their mocking simulation of the arguments and public discourse that was sure to take place in the coming months. Kyle followed it all rather effortlessly; shaping and leading public opinion was a proficiency he'd been perfecting for years. The stakes were going to be much higher this time around, but the basics were all the same. The rest of his team had set it all up rather nicely for him. The chaos in the streets that Bellwether was causing would drive them right into the safety that Talon was providing, and Kyle was to be the shepherd that guided them there.

Now that Kyle could see the whole plan, he was stunned by how elegantly it weaved together the economic, social, and political forces in the city. The economic and social factors of demanding the scarce resource of safety was already driving an increase in his political power. The societal panic from the savages and political pressures from ZSEC were already forcing the economy exactly where they wanted it. Soon, that perfectly precarious economy and newly empowered political realm would combine and force in the new social order that was _The Purpose_ of all this.

With predators at the bottom, prey would herald his team as the vanguards of safety, and under their leadership, there would be no more economic turmoil, no more fear of savages, and no more political uncertainty ever again; so long as they remained in power, that is.

All of the elements would continue to reinforce and enhance each other. There was no telling where exactly the point of no return was, but Kyle could feel that they were close. It was all happening so fast and yet somehow not fast enough. The point of this night hadn't been to lull them into a sense of security and confidence that the finish line was so near, it had been to prepare them for the very difficult final push that would get them there, and Kyle wasn't going to allow himself the satisfaction of feeling victory until long after he was confident it had already occurred.

…

Day 20

…

It was so late in the night that it was now very early morning. The horse and the caribou had been talking for some time now, but that was no bother to the sheep that had been resting her mind and taking in the beauty of the world she wanted to conquer. During her efforts over the years there had been little time to enjoy such things and it seemed a devilish irony that she wasn't able to do both.

She could hear that the conversation was winding down and had morphed into tales of their personal glories. Kyle was just reaching the end of his retelling of the time he'd performed an emergency lupine rhinoplasty, _for_ _free_ , during his college days and Dawn felt that now was as good a time as any for them to regroup. There was one last bonding activity she had in mind for them tonight and she stood up to gather them for that purpose.

…

It had been a crisp, clear night up on the mountain, but down here, so close to the Rainforest District, a dreary drizzle of light rain pinged steadily against the roof of the van. The inside of the vehicle was much like that of the one she had arrived in, but the outside had the façade of an old, beat up minivan that looked as unremarkable and ordinary as possible. It just wouldn't do to have any part of Mr. Talon's regular luxury fleet seen on the traffic cams in this part of the city. They weren't anywhere that was technically off limits, but her current entourage wasn't the sort that typically visited places like this.

The purposefully squeaky brakes groaned slightly as the van slowed and turned onto a gravel service road that lead into the forest at the base of the highlands. After a few more minutes of being jostled around by the rough terrain, the headlights found an open clearing surrounded by a semi-circular barricade of cement blocks. Inside the perimeter, time had worked long and hard to rust away the steel fab shacks spaced evenly around an acre-sized lot that was composed more of crack-inducing undergrowth than it was pavement.

Slowly, the driver navigated through an opening in the collapsed gateway and around the rubble covering the once-parking lot as they made their way to the sheer cliff face of the mountain that backed the opposite side. They finally came to a stop a short distance away from a massive rust-coated hanger door mounted to the rock wall.

"We'll need an hour," Bellwether said to Jayson.

Jayson looked at his driver and nodded. The doors of the van slid open and the group exited before the vehicle drove off to wait for their return.

Jayson bent down to pick up an old sign sticking out of the scrubby weeds, and tried to brush away some of the decades worth of dirt accumulation from it.

"What is this place?" Kyle asked.

"Abandoned," said Bellwether simply. "Well... _mostly_."

Kyle looked back at Jayson who held the sign out to him. It was rather difficult for him to see it in the low light, but he was still able to just barely make out the large block letters: _'Z.A.P.E.D.'_. Below that was the word _'RESTRICTED'_. Kyle would not have been able to decipher the acronym had it not been for a clue he found on the right side of the first line. It was an additional character that consisted of a dot surrounded by a circle that intersected a smaller dot above the center one.

"Zootopia Atomic Power and Energy Division?" Kyle asked.

ZAPED had been fueling Zootopia's endless need for gigawatts for over half a century. The project had originally coincided with the construction of the Sahara-Tundra Town climate wall and since then, the organization had developed infrastructure that not only powered the entire city, but every county within five hundred miles. Nearly all mammals knew that the department's many reactors were inside these mountains, but hardly any cared to know more than that, merely satisfied that the lights turned on.

"Not anymore," answered Bellwether as she made her way to a more mammal-sized door next to the larger vehicle entrance. She found a conduit covering next to the door and flipped it up to reveal a grungy keypad. She typed in a five-digit code causing the door to grumble metallically for a few seconds before falling silent once more. She pulled it open on screeching hinges to reveal a darkness much more absolute than the one they were already in.

"The primary ICF array is on the other side of the mountain; this was just a testing facility from the early days. It's been abandoned for almost sixty years now and it hasn't shown up on any city surveys in decades," Bellwether said. Her voice echoed back as she activated the flashlight on her phone.

The white rays reached out into the distance, but the length of the dark passageway was enough to overpower it, leaving the far reaches disconcertingly black. She moved the beam to the wall and scanned it until she found what she was looking for. Her hoof flicked a toggle and loud clicks emanated from relay switches high above and followed the progression of dim overhead incandescents flickering to life as they raced light into the tunnel beyond.

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Notes:

Quite a bit of exposition in this one, hope you enjoyed it.

The type of stock that Talon was talking about is something called 'super-voting preferred stock'. Some companies will put a provision into their charter that if a hostile takeover, or some other major event takes place, then the board can issue a ridiculous amount of control to someone else. It acts as a deterrent to the purchasing company, because it could easily destroy the company that they are trying to buy because it essentially acts like a poison pill. Anyways, If Talon Sr. foresaw that his company could be useful in some way, he could have put a provision in the charter that gives the current chair powers that don't need to be voted on, like issuing new stock, and it could be triggered by a catastrophic event, such as the stock suspension, thus allowing Jayson to do what he proposed.

ICF – Inertial Confinement Fusion is a method for fusing hydrogen for energy. There are several other methods, but as a personal belief, this is the best solution so far. It's still experimental in our world; our nuclear power is derived primarily from fission. Humanity pumped a lot of effort into fission technology over the last century and the reason wasn't because we wanted electricity. If electrical energy had been the original goal, I think that fusion would have been pursued more aggressively and would be the dominant nuclear technology today.

More classical energy alternatives simply would not be enough to power the climate wall effectively, so this is the narrative solution for that problem.

There were quite a few interesting and aggressive social commentaries in this one. Are these my views? Not all of them, but they are the views of these characters, regardless of if the points are valid.

There were some Easter eggs on the inner workings of the group behind this dropped here. _The Purpose_ and _them_.

 _Makers_ \- In case you were wondering, I did not miss an apostrophe. I meant that particular word to be plural, not possessive. I won't be diving too deep on any of Zootopia's theological workings, but in our own world, polytheism is usually associated with much older belief systems than monotheism, and it is safe to assume that that trend translates to Zootopia.

Thanks eng050599 for reviewing this again!


	13. The Night Howler

Note: For time reference, this takes place immediately after the end of the previous chapter.

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…

Day 20 (continued)

…

The rusty steel door slammed a harsh metallic reverb against the grimy green tiles that covered nearly every surface of the room. The acoustics focused the cacophony directly into the cell at the opposite end of the chamber and jolted awake the scraggly, ivory-furred fox confined within. The dim, flickering florescents were slow to warm up, but the night vision behind his cobalt eye had no trouble resolving the dungeon's new occupants.

"Good morning, Markus!" came a terrifyingly cheerful voice that made his heart race and shot adrenalin into his veins. "Or is it evening? It is _so_ _hard_ to tell down here."

The maniacal cackle that preceded the approaching rhythmic clicking of sharp hoofs against the hard ceramic floor caused the fox to coil in on himself. He buried his muzzle into his tail and moved his dirty, mangled paws to cover his snout and eyes in a futile effort to shield himself from the agony he knew she heralded. The movement scraped the cast iron around his neck against the cold, wet concrete beneath him.

The visiting party approached the rusty bars, and surveyed him with palpable disgust. He closed his eyes as he felt theirs bore into him. He further contracted himself in a desire to be as small as possible.

"Ugh. What is that smell?" the horse asked in revulsion.

"They secrete that when they're scared," said the small sheep knowingly. "We hose him off all the time, but nothing seems to get rid of it." The voice was uncaring disinterest.

He knew his involuntary shivering wasn't going to be the thing that drew additional notice, but being as inconspicuous as possible was his only defense in this place. The shaking was from the knowledge of what was coming next; what _always_ came next. Maybe these new ones would take mercy on him. He knew they wouldn't, but he had precious few thoughts for comfort here.

"That is pathetic," came another voice. "How long has _it_ been down here?"

"Oh, hmm. You know, I'm not sure." The sheep was gleefully sardonic. "Markus?" Her sing-song callout of his name made him tremble even harder. "How long have you been down here?"

She asked him that all the time. He had no idea what the answer was. He could have been here for days, or weeks or, he considered as he squeezed himself tighter, _years_.

He couldn't even remember the last time they'd fed him and most of his water was lapped up from the floor; she wasn't exaggerating about how often they hosed him. His existence was solitary darkness, interspersed with the tortures she visited.

There was a time before all this, a time when he was a real mammal, free to walk the streets of the city under the warm sunlight of an open sky. But that had been a different life; the one he had now was one of pain and fear, and the revelation of something darker within himself.

"Not very talkative today, Markus?" the sheep mocked him.

As he quivered and whimpered into his tail, he realized that he wasn't even sure that was his real name. The details of that previous life had faded away to the point that it could all have been a figment of his imagination from the start. Something he'd invented to give contrast to the continuous suffering.

Whether real or imagined, only a single detail had been worth saving during this endless time. It was the only thing between him and complete madness, and how he felt about it was so strong, it convinced him that it had to be real: he had a son, and he had to get back to him.

"Well, I guess he doesn't know," the sheep said in sarcastic disappointment. "It's been a little over a year now. I normally wait until _during_ the trial to remind him, but he always seems to forget when it's finished."

The three mammals laughed with each other. The sound disconcerted Markus enough that his shakes became even more violent. It was likely his only escape from here would be death, and only that precious filament from a previous life, the one that he still wasn't even sure was real, kept him from wishing for it.

"Markus, can you stand up for us?" one of the mammals said, he wasn't sure which, but it didn't really matter; he was too paralyzed by fear to move.

"Markus!" It was definitely the sheep, and her shout caused him to tense hard enough that his shaking momentarily paused. "You know what happens when you don't comply," she said sternly.

He did know what happened when he didn't comply and the knowledge that _it_ would happen even if he did, spurred him enough motivation to break his silence.

In a voice raspy from dehydration and disuse, he groaned out from under his paws a desperate plea, "P-please, I-I j-just want to see my s-son." Giving voice to his singular desire stabbed at the dust of his shattered heart and he couldn't help the trembling whimpers that followed his appeal.

"Ah! So it does speak!" exclaimed the third occupant. Markus separated the digits covering his eyes enough to see that it was a caribou.

"We've been over this, Markus; you don't have a son." The sheep had a delighted, almost musical quality in her response.

Markus closed his eyes tightly as he let out another dreadfully pained whine. He knew she was lying, but he feared that someday he would be broken enough to believe her.

"J-just let me l-leave. I-I won't t-tell any-anyone." His moaning voice heaved and cracked as he begged for his life.

"Now Markus, do you really think I am going to take the word of a _fox_?" she said with contemptuous scandal. "Now stop being silly and stand up."

He wasn't going to do it. It wouldn't matter if he did or not anyways. If she was here, she was going to do _it_ to him either way; she _always_ did _it_ to him. He had so little control over his body here, and given the choice, he was staying right there on the ground.

The pain simultaneously erupted throughout every point of his existence and ripped him from the ball he'd been curled up in. His body splayed wide and gurgled barks of agony left his throat as the muscles in his larynx and diaphragm fought to overcome the current passing through them. His back arched and his limbs writhed with spasmodic convulsions, while his claws, worn down to bloody nubs from doing this so often, frantically struggled to find purchase on the stable reality of the concrete floor.

His body fell limp as the electricity stopped. He heaved ragged pants as his arrhythmic heart struggled to find equilibrium.

"Stand up, Markus," the voice said firmly.

He couldn't, and fire again flared through every cell in his body. It lasted longer this time, and while he could still feel his body jerking under the oscillating volts, the pain was starting to fade, and he hoped that consciousness would soon follow.

It did not, and he dropped hard to the floor once more, barely able to gasp for the air that brought no relief. He tasted blood in his mouth, smelled the singed fur on his neck, and felt heat radiating from the metal that bound him. The punishment left his vision blurred and an incredible aching soreness throughout his extremities. Now, even if he had wanted to, standing was no longer a physical possibility.

"You want me to stand him up?" the horse asked with a deep and eager drawl.

"As much as I would like to see that, Doug still needs him _alive_ to continue his research. And it _really_ _is_ a hassle hiding missing mammal reports, even the fox ones." There was genuine disappointment in her voice. "Don't worry, we still have our ways." Some of the merriment returned and she giggled.

The voltage and excruciation that had arced through his neurons left Markus unable to string together anything more than the most basic symbolic thoughts. He managed to gather enough of them to get both of his fractured paws up to the iron ring around his neck. He gripped as tightly as his mangled metacarpals would allow, and tried not to remember what came next.

He attempted to focus what was left of his mind on his son's red-furred face. The sharp-witted kit hadn't inherited his snowy coat, but the distinctly cobalt eyes were a perfect match. He prayed that those eyes, so very much like his own, still had the light that this place had stolen from his. The devastation his heart had suffered from being separated from his kit was still the worst of the tortures he'd suffered here.

A steady _'click', 'click', 'click',_ emanated from behind him as a winch drew in the slack from the chain that connected his neck to a hole in the wall. Drug back to the moment, he whimpered in abject horror as the binding slowly dragged him across the floor.

When he got nearer to the wall, it started to pull him upwards, and he frantically tried to get his legs under him to take the strain off his neck. The earlier shocks had removed their ability to do so, and his lungs scrambled for air as each unrelenting click strangled him further.

When the clicking finally stopped, his neck was at approximately the height it would be if he had been standing on his own. With his numb legs still unable to take much of the load, his ruined paws were only minimally successful in taking the weight off of his throat as he dangled and struggled helplessly against the wall.

Markus hung there thrashing in front of his audience as his fraught whines filled the room. His eyes were closed tightly and he tried not to think about the fact that he was naked, that his thinning fur was disheveled and matted by dirt and blood and blue-stained splotches, that half his right ear was missing, that he was very likely going to die here, that his death would not be hasty, nor that the very last shred of dignity he had left was about to be ripped from him once more. He thought only of his son's smiling face and fervently prayed to whatever gods there may be that by the end of what he knew was about to happen, he would still remember that face that he loved so much.

"By the way, Doug said to tell you he's sorry he couldn't come visit you himself this time," the sheep spoke with her devilish cheer. "He said he's pretty proud of this new formula and he _really_ ," she drew out the word for emphasis, "hopes you enjoy it."

Her maniacal cackle sent Markus into quakes of panic that jerked him from the thoughts of his son. If he couldn't go back to him, he needed to know why.

"W-why m-me?" he shakily croaked out through what should have been teary sobs, except that he hadn't enough hydration for tears.

With a nauseating delight, she responded, "Because, Markus, you're a savage fox."

He knew he would be unable to ignore the terrors that came next.

His tormentor consulted one of her colleagues. "Jayson, do you want the honors?"

"Oh, yes! Please!" the caribou said excitedly.

Pleading, fearful yelps streamed uncontrollably from the terrified fox as he shivered against the wall. He continued attempting to concentrate on the memories of playing with his kit, and the feelings of how happy they were together. He tried not to think about that kit growing up without a father, or about the tranq-addict mother that bore him, or about all the cruel horrors this world inflicted on foxes.

The sound of a compressed nitrogen discharge, and the feeling of impact on his abdomen were simultaneous. White lightning, far worse than any electricity the chain could produce, worked its way quickly across his skin and through his flesh. It set fire to his bones and his body lurched and trembled as molten steel shot through his veins. Beneath the uncontrolled growling, his last free thought was a desperate wish for his son to be happy.

As a burning rage consumed his consciousness, he used the last of it to force out a beseeching howl past his vicious snarling: "MIKE!"

…

"Ugh," Dawn Bellwether said with exhausted irritation, "he _always_ says that." She rolled her eyes as she, Kyle Hayworth, and Jayson Talon observed the forty-seventh variant of Night Howler serum do its grisly work.

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Notes:

Who is Mike? At the time of this event, he is a 10 year old red fox kit, and for all he knows, his father walked out on him a little over a year ago. 2 years from now, Officer Nick Wilde will catch him stealing hoof-bars from a convenience store... Yeah, this is _that_ Mike… Check out my first fanfic, ' _Good Cops Like You'_ , to find out more.

Am I implying that this has happened to Markus 47 times? No. No I am not. It is likely that they would have tested each version more than once…

Marcus is an albino red fox, so while his fur is white, his son's coloring would not necessarily inherit the trait. Thanks eng050599 for the genetics consultation.

Just in case you forgot what a psychopath Bellwether is, I'll remind you that she was fully prepared to not just let Nick eat Judy in the pit, she was eager to _watch_ it happen. It seemed to me that that was not the first time she had done something like that.

The next chapter is a fun one. If it is out by the time that you read this, then I recommend reading it now. If not, it will be out very shortly.

Special thanks to eng050599 for editing this again. I couldn't do this without you. If you have not read his fic, _'Lost Causes and Broken Dreams'_ , you are missing out. You can find him on ff, ao3, and as one of ZNN's featured stories.


	14. Wilde Times

Note: For time reference, this starts off only a few hours after the end of the previous chapter.

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…

Day 20 (Continued)

…

The sign on the door was about as clear as it could possibly be and Nick doubted that there was an alternate interpretation somewhere that he was missing. He looked down at Finnick, unsure of what they should do next.

"You're the sweet talker, Slick," Finnick said to him dismissively.

In theory, the two were equal partners, but on most occasions it usually fell to Nick to take the lead. It was a natural fit for both and neither had ever complained about it, but with the stakes getting higher all the time now, Nick was becoming less and less confident in his decisions, and he resented being the one responsible for their outcomes.

In the past, they would have had no problem just causing a scene and either left having either gotten what they wanted, or at least had a good laugh over the chaos they'd caused. Nowadays, he wasn't sure if the consequences would be so benign if they pushed their luck and came up short. They weren't just a pair of shifty foxes anymore; so far as the public was concerned, they were now potentially savage killers, and they were starting to be treated as such.

Nick cocked his eyebrow at Finnick and said sarcastically, "Yeah, well, I expect some pretty heart-throbbing toot-toots out of you today."

Finnick pulled his elephant hood up and gave the saddest toot he could.

"Aww," Nick said, exaggerating the sentiment with his paw on his heart, "that is just so sad." He continued on in his kit-voice, "Does daddy need to give you a kiss to make it all better?" He stuck his bottom lip out to make himself a caricature of sorrow as he leaned in.

Finnick's response was defiant toot right in Nick's face causing him to pull back in sudden surprise. He looked down at Finnick disapprovingly as he rubbed his ringing ear.

The fennec pulled down his hood and growled, "I told you what I'd do if you ever tried that again."

"Hey, I get it," Nick said with his paws in the air to show sardonic surrender. "You got the whole tough-fox image to keep up. Fine by me."

Finnick scowled at him and was about to respond when he pointed behind Nick and pulled his hood back up.

Nick looked behind him and saw a hippo entering the shop. The doors were pretty heavy, and tailgating was usually the best way in. Seizing the opportunity, they made the short dash to the door and just barely managed to slip inside before it closed. The slick maneuvering had carried them right past the sign on the entrance that clearly read, "No Predators".

Nick's ploy to capitalize on the threat of a health inspector a few weeks ago had really paid off well. Things had been tense for the first few days, but after that, the transaction had become relatively mundane and they hadn't had much trouble for the several days after. Throughout the past week, however, that original tension returned, and it wasn't just because they were foxes.

That tension was now fully taut as every mammal in the establishment fell silent and turned to look at them. Nick smiled and walked to stand in line as he had yesterday, and all the days before that. He kept smiling and they kept staring.

"What's going on here?" said a deep voice from behind the counter.

"There's preds in here!" shouted a small rhino at the counter.

"What?" the elephant behind the register shouted as he walked around it.

Nick wasn't even being defiant. He knew that foxes were commonly unwelcome in many places, but _all predators_? He sincerely couldn't believe it, regardless of what the sign said, and he was genuinely unsure what was going to happen next.

He kept grinning as the elephant approached him. "Having a good day?" he said with cautious cheer.

"Look, fox, we've already established that you can read. Why you gotta' go around causin' trouble?"

"Sir, I would just like to buy a jumbo-pop for my son, and we'll be on our way," Nick said as gently and submissively as he could while the grey beast loomed over him. The irony of being a fox was that there were many varieties of prey that could easily crush him should it be their desire to do so.

"No more," the elephant said firmly as he pointed at the door. "Out."

"Do we need to talk about your health code violations again?" Nick said playfully as he tried to salvage the situation.

The elephant took a stomping step forward and was now only about a foot away. "Do I need to tell you to leave again?" the elephant rumbled.

"If I have to come back here with the inspector, I will," Nick said condescendingly. He was getting quite nervous that things were about to get physical, but he held his ground, standing at ease with his arms crossed.

"If I have to remove you from here myself, I will," he said gruffly as he took another step forward, causing Nick to have to actually back up, or risk losing a toe.

Nick didn't have to fake the fear in his eyes as he made one last plea, "In front of my kit? Really?"

"No predators. I don't care how old." And with that, he pushed open the door and took another step forward that forced the foxes out onto the sidewalk. "Don't come back here," the elephant warned dangerously before resoundingly closing the door.

"Well, that didn't work," Finnick said.

"Yeah, whole lotta help you were," Nick groaned as he brushed himself off and straightened out his tie.

"Not my fault you're losing your edge," Finnick said diminutively.

Nick gave him a very unamused look.

"So what are we going to do now?" Finnick asked.

Nick gave it some serious thought. It was unlikely that they were going to find another joint that would sell to them. They had always had a problem with it in the past, and it was the reason that they had needed to use a go-between in the first place. Now that they were not just foxes, but _dangerous_ predators too, they were going to have a hard time charming some prey mammal to do it for them.

This experience had sapped all the charm Nick had in him today, anyways. He hated to admit it, but he could already feel the day was going to be a bust, and just having that feeling meant that it already was.

Having come to the conclusion in his heart that today was already a failure, he decided that it didn't necessarily have to be as a new idea began to form. With a wry grin he looked down at Finnick and said, "Fin, we're taking the day off."

…

Nick was pretty sure that the Fox Away graffiti on the door to _Oasis_ wasn't official establishment policy, but he wasn't entirely confident in the presumption of coincidence. There was only one way to find out, though, and he pulled at the brass ring to open it.

"After you," Nick said conceitedly as he pretended to be a gentlefox.

"Coward," Finnick chided as he walked inside confidently.

"At least I don't have an elephant fetish," Nick retorted as he followed his companion inside.

Finnick growled a whisper, "I do not have a…" but he was cut off by Nick's purposeful interruption.

"Hey, Yax!" Nick shouted as he crossed the threshold of the bead curtain.

There was a simple art to getting the wildebeest out of his meditations. His companion the last time he'd been here had simply failed to be intrusive enough, which, now that he thought about it, was oddly out of character for her. While he could have easily assisted her in grabbing the receptionist's attention, there hadn't been anything pressing _he_ had to get done that day, and it had been far more entertaining to watch her struggle.

"Oh, hey!" Yax said dopily. "Ya got another mystery to solve?"

"Not today, Dreads. Just looking for a little relaxation is all," Nick responded in his casual, friendly tone.

"Oh, well you came to the right place!" said Yax, genuinely happy to be of service. "Do you just want a day pass?"

"What comes in the _lux_ package?" Nick queried.

"I'm not paying for the lux package," Finnick growled.

Nick looked down at him and smiled. "You know what, Fin? You're right, I am losing my touch; today was my fault, let me make it up to you." Nick smiled and Finnick scowled trying to figure out what his angle was. Nick honestly didn't have an angle, he just wanted something that made him feel good, and there was something about being generous with the mammal that constituted the closest thing he had to a friend that made him feel good.

He turned back to Yax, and said decisively, "We'll take two."

…

Sunning himself was one of the few consistent joys Nick had in his life, but doing it as often as he did tended to wear out the pleasure he got from it. It was days like today that brought its novelty back and as the warm rays fell on his completely bare fur, he was on a whole other level of relaxation, and it caused him to let out a contented groan that was completely involuntary.

"Better settle down, Slick, or they'll make you wear a towel again," Finnick laughed as he said it.

Nick rolled his head over to look at Finnick and smugly peered over the tops of his tortoiseshell sunglasses, the only thing he was wearing, and said condescendingly, "I think that was you, _Little Fox_."

Finnick furrowed his brow and his eyes went to the side as he re-evaluated the memory. He looked back at Nick, growled, and then lay back on his oversized pillow. Nick smiled and returned to his splayed-out sunning position on his own pillow.

…

It could have been hours or minutes; Nick didn't have his phone on him and in the timeless bliss he'd achieved, the concept of a clock was completely offensive. All he knew was that he was hungry, and that the ailment was a relatively simple one for him to fix.

He sat up to look around the terrace and blinked his eyes as they adjusted to being open. Based on his previous visits, it seemed that there weren't as many mammals here today as was normal, and the mix leaned a lot heavier towards the predator side, but the prey that were here didn't seem to have any apprehension about interacting with the others. It was almost as if the crisis didn't exist inside these walls and Nick's mind was calm enough that he decided to let himself believe that for the time being.

His eyes locked in on the target he had been hunting for. He made eye contact with one of the stewards and waved his paw. As the lynx made his way over, Nick turned to check on Finnick. The fennec was fast asleep and murmuring gently.

"Can I get the tuna nigiri, and the um, the calamari?" Nick asked in a whisper.

"Sure thing," said the cat.

"Same for my friend here." Nick pointed to his companion. He chuckled a bit and then added, "And bring him a towel, too."

…

"What the hell?" Finnick grumbled as he awoke to a calamari ring striking him on the tip of his nose.

"Food time," Nick said lazily as popped another ring into his mouth.

"Why the hell…" Finnick asked as he looked down to see a towel draped over his waist and scowled at it.

"You were snoozin' pretty _hard_ there, buddy. I was just looking out for ya'," Nick said innocently.

"I was not!" Finnick growled.

"Hey," Nick said as he put his paws in a defensive position, "I don't judge; whatever helps you sleep." Nick's act faltered and he let out a snorted chuckle.

Finnick scowled at him, but Nick ignored it as his focus went to the platter before him. His chops were already dripping with anticipation of this fare being even half as good as it looked.

The strips of raw tuna alternated white and red and had been arranged in such a way as to look like it had all come from the same slab. A quick glance suggested that the white and red strips that were missing from his own pattern were on Finnick's plate and vise versa for him.

He licked his lips, then looped several more calamari rings onto his claws and snagged them with his long tongue. The salty crunch of the breading and the chewy texture of the squid only got him salivating more and he decided to go for one of the tuna strips.

He selected a red one first, opting to save the white ones, his favorites, for last. The meat was cold between his digits as he brought it to his muzzle. He cocked his head and used his teeth to rip it from his claws. The tender meat gave little resistance as he teared into it. He let his eyes roll up towards the sky as he moaned in delight at the tastes and textures of the raw protein.

Although his initial foray back into the world of meat-eating had failed a few weeks ago, he hadn't given up entirely and had slowly been eating more and more of it. He'd been foolish to gorge himself that first night after having been _sober_ for so long. His stomach, and his mind, had not been prepared to handle such a rapid change in diet. Among the many parts of that night that he had tried to forget, one thing that he couldn't was how good it had felt to eat meat again, at least on the way down, and so, since that night, he'd been slowly reintroducing the consumption of it into his daily routine. No matter how bad a day he'd been having, he could always count on those morsels to give him a momentary rush of predatory excitement and make him forget his troubles, if only for an instant.

That experience today, however, only had a sunbaked, carefree, and completely relaxed fox to contend with. The sensation it gave him wasn't something he could put into words, but it was causing his tail to wag enthusiastically, and that was all that mattered. He put no effort into suppressing it, and gleefully grabbed another piece, this time a white one, and basked in the buttery smoothness of once-living flesh. There was a time when he would have had to remind himself what he was, that he was a fox and a predator, but right now, he not only believed those facts fully, he could _feel_ their truth, and it felt _good_.

…

Nick leaned his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes as he basked in the realization that there was actually something he enjoyed more than sunning his bare fur. It was sunning his bare fur with a belly full of tuna and calamari, _with_ a blueberry daiquiri in his paw. He lifted the drink towards his face and without opening his eyes, he used his lengthy vulpine tongue to seek out the straw and bring it to his lips.

While he sipped at his drink, he listened to the sounds of the resort. It was rather quiet now that he was focusing on it; the high stone walls did a good job of acoustically shielding the spa from the regular din of the city. If he'd really wanted to, he could have focused and probably heard some of the sounds he was more familiar with, but he had no desire to do that and continued to scan the more local options.

He passed by bits of conversations, laughing, snoring, and some groaning he knew to be coming from the direction of the bears at the coconut trees. There were the more natural sounds of birds, insects, wind, and…his ears articulated to better lock in on the babbling sounds of the fountain and he let that be the noise that retained what little attention he had.

…

It had been some time since he'd finished eating. He didn't think he'd slept, but at the level of relaxation he'd achieved, it scarcely made a difference. He had finished his drink at some point, but when in particular the bottom had been reached, had not been an event important enough to warrant conscious registration. Now that it was gone, he decided that it would be nice to have another and his mind lazily plotted a scheme that might achieve him such a goal.

Each of his candidate strategies involved the unfortunate first step of opening his eyes to look around. Reluctantly, he did so, and again had to blink several times to adjust to the late afternoon sunlight. When he started to resolve meaning out of the images he was seeing, an approaching male tiger caught his attention first. There was a dim notion in the back of his mind that perhaps this feline had taken note of his plight and worked out his need for more blueberry daiquiri without having needed to be asked.

"Mr. Wilde?" the cat asked.

"Yeah?" Nick responded sleepily.

"Would you care for your massage now?"

Nick had almost forgotten that a deep tissue massage had been part of the package he'd purchased for the day. He still had a desire for that daiquiri, but the prospect of becoming even more relaxed than he already was intrigued him.

Languidly he nodded his head and said, "Yes."

"If you are comfortable here, I can bring the table out to you," the attendant offered.

Nick nodded his head again and the tiger retreated to get his table while a much smaller female deer was running through a similar conversation with Finnick. Nick grinned at the contrast between the choices of masseuse they'd made. While everything the fennec did was motivated by the need to look as macho as possible, Nick's nonchalance with what others thought, gave him the freedom to do just about whatever he wanted, regardless of what it made him look like. Today he wanted a massage, and if that meant using a strong male predator to do it, then that's what he'd do, so long as it felt good.

The predatory cat, easily twenty times his size, had paws designed to crush the life out of creatures much larger than foxes and claws that could be used to strip flesh from bones, but Nick had no fears of that strength being used for anything but turning his muscles into complete jelly. Finnick's massage, however, with blunt hooves backed by a much lighter and weaker prey mammal, would save some of his self-image, but it would pale in comparison to the borderline religious experience that Nick was about to have.

The tiger set up the table next to the giant pillow Nick had been laying on, and he slothfully stood up for the first time since he'd arrived, walked to the table, then flopped onto its surface. With his muzzle through the hole at the head of the table, the only thing he could see was crisp green grass, but he decided it didn't matter and closed his eyes.

The feline first raked his blunted claws across Nick's back. Starting at the tops of both shoulders, they slowly scraped down the fur on his back, down past his openly wagging tail and down along his legs to his hind paws. The action was repeated several more times before the tiger's massive paws then encircled Nick's lithe arms entirely and stroked them from his sockets down to his wrists.

The initial grooming session had served the purpose of both straightening out Nick's fur, and letting the tiger analyze which muscle groups needed the most focus.

Placid as silk, the tiger quietly spoke, "I don't think I need to ask if you've been stressed lately, but you have quite a bit of tension in your shoulders and back. Say something if I'm pushing too hard or you feel uncomfortable. Other than that, just relax and let me take care of getting these knots out of you."

It was the most effort Nick had spent on anything all day, but he managed to stifle the hundred jokes that came to mind and decided that it would be more beneficial for him in the long run to just follow the instructions without incident. With what little motive freedom it had, he nodded his head and hummed his consent.

Nick spent the next hour groaning with pleasure and wagging his tail under the warm afternoon sun as strong paws worked and kneaded his body in the way that only a feline could. When his backside was complete, he rolled over, thankfully without need for a towel, and the tiger began to massage the digits and paw pads on each of his limbs. After that, a considerable amount of time was spent scratching behind the fox's ears, and the session finally concluded with a luxurious belly rub that sent quaking shakes into his left hind paw that he was completely powerless to stop.

Looking as though he was dead, his body lay spread-eagled on the table and his tongue lazily lolled out of his mouth, as the sun baked him.

…

When he awoke an unknown amount of time later, he figured that the tiger must have taken mercy on the vulpine puddle he'd made, and left Nick to fall asleep on the table.

He sat up and looked around him as he tried to reconnect with his surroundings. The sun hadn't set over the edge of the resort walls yet, and he guessed that there would be about another two hours before it did. He couldn't locate Finnick with his eyes, but a quick sniff told him that the fennec was somewhere behind him. A slightly deeper sniff told him that the fox was wet and Nick guessed that he was in one of the hot spring pools.

As he swung his legs over the edge of the table he noticed a smaller table next to him. Atop it sat another blueberry daiquiri under a glass dome. He smiled as he retrieved it and took a long luxurious swig from its chilly sweetness.

With every tendon, ligament, and muscle fiber as relaxed as the day he was born, it was a bit of a struggle to make his way to Finnick without falling over, but he managed, and slipped into the steamy water next to his pal.

"Oh, sleeping beauty finally decides to join us," Finnick said in sardonic greeting.

"At least I don't need a towel when I do," Nick slyly remarked back.

The female black wolf in the pool with them chuckled and Nick received an intense scowl from Finnick.

Nick returned the scowl with smug indifference as he took another sip from his drink. He then asked, "So are you going to introduce me to your friend here, or are you going to just stare at me like that all night?"

"I'm Kerrie," said the wolf bashfully, "You must be Nick. Your friend here told me all about you."

Even with canine ears, Finnick's mumble of, "He's not my friend," went unheard.

Nick responded, "Oh, really?" as he looked down at Finnick. Looking back to the wolf he said charmingly, "Well I promise you, only the bad stuff was true."

The wolf giggled again and Nick took another swig from his blueberry rapture. He didn't have any interest in the wolf, but being a charmer was a personality quirk that he usually couldn't help.

After some idle conversation, the three nocturnals that had been doing nothing but alternate between sleep and rest all day were becoming more energized as the sunlight pinkened. They tried their paw at a game of volleyball, but lost decisively to the giraffe pair that ran the courts. Nick suggested that they try badminton instead, and while they still lost, the game had been a slightly more even match. It wasn't long after that the sun finally sunk below the high walls of the preserve and they decided that they'd had their fill of the naturalist lifestyle for the day.

…

"I heard you were going to _Dusky's_ tonight," Kerrie said.

"Yeah, that's the plan," Nick replied while he buttoned up his khakis.

"I'm meeting some friends there tonight, maybe we'll see you around?" the wolf asked expectantly as she got dressed as well.

"Sure thing," Nick smiled at her while he pulled on a deep red shirt that was covered in neon green triangles and royal purple vector lines.

"Great!" she said excitedly.

While Nick was pulling on his yellow tie with blue regimented stripes, he thought he caught her winking at Finnick. Whether he saw it or not, there was no mistaking the scents the two were throwing off. Nick shook his head with a smile as he straightened out his knot.

He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. He'd turned it off and left it there when they'd originally arrived and out of habit, it was his intention to turn it back on and find out what he'd missed today.

He stared at the reflection of his green eyes in the black glass for several seconds. The device felt heavier than it ought to and he could already feel it leaking tension into the paw that was holding it. He doubted that anything that had happened today was any more gruesome than any other day, but that didn't mean that it would affect him any less. Today was supposed to be his day off and deciding it was better to just leave the dark window inert, he placed it back into his pocket without activating it.

…

" _TAME BANDS BANNED, Free-Necks Only,"_ read the paw-painted red letters of a white sign that was nearly the size of the door it was attached to.

While prey guests had always been more than welcome at _Dusky's_ , and not for the reasons often joked about, the establishment's de facto motto had always been 'by predators, for predators' and nothing about current events was going to slow them down on that mission.

He hadn't come across any specifically, but he'd seen reports that some prey establishments were already barring entry to preds without _collars_ , and that some leaked memos from Zootopia's biggest companies showed plans to require pred employees to wear them while on premises. Unsure if the _collar_ policy was better or worse than the outright predator ban he'd encountered earlier today, he felt a sour sense of justice that _Dusky's_ was providing a reciprocal balance to the world, while a deeper part of him nagged that this balance wasn't necessarily a good thing.

As they walked through the door, Nick resolved to make this the last time he thought about the city for the night. It was still supposed to be his day off, and there were much more important things to consider right now; such as which reptilian delicacy he was going to sink his fangs into first, or what combination of inebriants he was going to use to wash them down.

Once inside, Nick noted that the atmosphere was decidedly different from the last time he'd been here. The main lights had always been gentle in consideration for the many night-visioned patrons this place attracted, but they were considerably dimmer tonight. Not that his own night vision needed any assistance, extra lighting was being provided by multi-colored projectors that swept their beams across the floor and synchronized their shifting frequency and intensity with the music.

The music was much more current than he'd expected and while the upper tonal registers remained at regular volumes out of respect for the many sharp ears exposed to it, the infrasonic bass tones had been jacked all the way up to the point that Nick could feel it vibrating in his chest as he breathed.

The excitement of the additional lights and sound centered on a stage featuring a rather impressive DJ setup at the far edge of the room. Nick seemed to remember this main space having been smaller before and guessed that the wall to the private party room had been knocked down at some point in the last couple weeks to accommodate the new entertainment. The hardwood dance floor in front of the stage seemed to be a new addition as well.

More than just the remodel, the crowd tonight was as lively as he'd ever seen it. The place was absolutely wall to wall packed and the mood was much more aggressive too. As energetic as the dance floor was, there were quite a few fang locks going on in the booths and against walls, and while not every pairing was same-species, every mammal in the building was a predator. Nick could quite literally smell the excitement in the air as it mixed with the thick scent of blood wafting from the slaughter room and the savory aromas coming off the meat that seemed to be everywhere. In less than three weeks, they'd turned _Dusky's_ into a proper club, and the atmosphere was exhilarating.

The vulpine duo nimbly navigated the dense crowd and made their way up the gently sloping floor to a part of the bar that was more easily accessible to their height.

"Two Jackal Daniels," Nick shouted over the roar of the crowd.

A black grizzly brought their shots over and Nick started a tab; he'd meant it when he said that today was his treat.

"What are we cheersing to?" Nick yelled over to Finnick.

"To you paying!" Finnick shouted back.

Nick shook his head as they clinked and then bottoms-uped their glasses.

When he brought his head back down his eye caught a spot at the bar that had just opened up and he put a paw on Finnick to guide him there. They hopped up on the stools and then looked at the chalkboard menu on the wall.

"You gonna' pace yourself this time?" Finnick jeered with a laugh.

Nick mocked disapproval by narrowing his eyes and nudging back hard enough to force the fennec to reflexively jump and grab his seat in order to avoid falling off the stool. Nick didn't do it in anger, it was just a jibe in kind for the one he'd received. The knowledge that somewhere on the back of this very building there were jagged indentations in the siding that matched the layout of the claws on his own paw didn't haunt him, but it and the memories associated with that day were not ones he wanted to relive tonight, and he was glad when the barkeep came back to interrupt his thoughts about trying to not have thoughts.

"Ordering anything?" the bear asked.

Nick ordered a gator steak, rare, with a side of breaded snake meat strips that the owner had comically named _snake snacks_. He thoroughly enjoyed every bite and washed it down with a few low-alc beers; he was still only eighty pounds, and there was more than enough stimulation here to give him a buzz without the excessive addition of alcohol.

...

When a different waiter returned to take their empty plates, Nick had made the mistake of asking the raccoon why the overhaul had happened. It had been a dumb question and he should have thought about it harder before he'd asked it because the response had been a rather annoyed explanation that quite a few of the nightlife hangouts in the city had begun blocking entry to _free-necks_.

He hadn't known that factoid specifically, but he could have probably guessed it if he hadn't spent the whole day completely ignoring the reality of the last three weeks. With his curiosity having got the better of him, his new understanding that this place now existed in direct response to the crisis dampened his high.

…

Finnick's wolf friend from earlier in the day hadn't been lying about coming here, and a short while ago, she and a coyote couple had hunted them down, then taken Finnick out to the dance floor. Not wanting to make it an odd numbering, Nick had felt content to stay behind and nurse his whiskey while he watched the wild times the predators of Zootopia were having.

Places like this were what predators needed right now, and he had a feeling that demand for predator-specific entertainment was going to be on the rise as more and more places closed their doors to his demographic, regardless of if they were _banded_ or not. He had the fleeting notion that answering such a demand could have huge profit potentials, and his mind wandered disjointedly through a fantasy of how he might cash in.

He'd established that he'd like to have a _free-necks only_ policy too, and was working though the revelation that his own surname offered a potential pun for what he'd call it, when he realized that he knew nothing about running a club. _But I could learn._

"Why so sad?" said a pleasantly musical female voice behind him.

Nick had almost ignored it as he hadn't immediately identified it as having been directed at him. When he realized that it may have been, he took a look around and found a fluffy white arctic fox staring at him.

"Me?" he said, pointing his paw to his chest.

"Who else?" she said as she took the seat next to him at the bar.

"Why do you think I'm sad?" Nick asked. He was wearing his typical smug grin and he was genuinely calm enough that he was sure no scent was giving him away. Even if it had, he wasn't actually sad, he was just pensive. Though, now that he'd been accused of it, he was feeling a little defensive. If he had been sad, why shouldn't he be? And why was it any of her business?

"You don't smell like them," she answered in an empathetic tone.

"I smell fine," he said, not quite managing to hide the note of irritation in his voice as he took another drink.

"That's what I mean," she responded smoothly, a knowing smile on her muzzle.

Nick looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"They're all so thrilled to be here. It's so stressful feeling prey eyes boring into them all day, and here they can just let loose and not have to worry about being feared for what they are, or what they might become."

"Do you mind?" Nick said, annoyed, as he looked back to the dance floor and took another drink. "I'm trying to have a good night."

"Are you, though?" she asked in a tone that Nick found both endearing, and a red flag that he was about to be hustled.

He looked back at her and said flatly, "Yeah."

"Well, you at least look like you could use some help," she pandered.

Nick had been fine with letting Finnick go do whatever it was he was doing with that wolf. He really wasn't the type of fox to go picking up vixens at bars, though he felt he would be rather successful if he ever decided to try. His particular set of skills were perfectly suited to the task, but every time he considered it, it never felt right.

He had never really analyzed it past that bad feeling before, and he wasn't about to do that type of self-reflection at a bar in the middle of hundreds of revved-up predators. If he had, though, he might have traced the feeling back to the loneliness that pervaded his life. Having a quick fling would only serve to remind him of how alone he really was, and so his subconscious did its best to protect him by making such encounters seem unattractive.

With only that sense of undesirability entering his consciousness, he acted on it. He gave a wry grin and said condescendingly, "I don't need any help."

She wriggled a little closer to him and Nick regarded her suspiciously. "Maybe I do," she said in a whispered tone that Nick could only connote as trouble.

 _I'm not the one you want, trust me._ Her persistence and a certain thickness to the scent of the air in his vicinity was threatening to force him to confront the reason he wasn't interested. His self-loathing was creeping into the foreground of his mind and was tarnishing his mood. It was a bad idea to keep talking to her; his relationships never worked out, even the short ones. He always hurt and was hurt by anyone that he'd ever gotten close to and there was only one possible explanation for it.

"You don't want me, I'm bad news," Nick said firmly.

"Why's that?" she asked, unfazed.

"I'm dangerous," he said with a bit of his self-hatred coloring bile in his tone.

"Dangerous?" she asked as she leaned in, "Don't you know?" She got right in his ear and whispered, "All preds are dangerous, sweetheart."

This vixen was relentless and Nick could smell that she wasn't going to be losing interest in him anytime soon. The scent of hundreds of lusty desires filled the room, but knowing that this one in particular was directed at him, began to cloud some of the more primitive parts of his foxy mind.

Nick took a deep breath and said with a dismissive sigh, "You're pretty forward; did you know that?"

"And you're pretty cute, but I doubt you didn't know that," she smiled at him and then leaned into his ear to whisper again, "I like green eyes."

The deep breath he'd just taken before he'd spoken had only been meant to be a part of his act, a mannerism that was more automatic than intentional, and he'd barely realized he'd done it until the effects of such a full inhale of her scent hit him at the same time as her words did. Nick's traitorous tail, dangling over the back of the stool, began wagging slightly as his muzzle went rogue and a sly grin crept over it. "I don't even know your name, Snow," he said flippantly.

"Skyler, but my friends call me Skye," she said softly.

Nick could feel his heart rate picking up as he as looked at her, his face still full of that smug grin he just couldn't help. His unrelenting charm getting the better of him, he asked cunningly, "Are we friends?"

Skye leaned in to whisper in his ear once more and as she did so Nick got an unencumbered whiff of her cheek glands. "I'd prefer if we weren't," she said deviously.

He'd done his due diligence to resist her, for both their sakes, but he was only a _sly fox_ after all, and with her scent running rampant over his senses, he suddenly remembered that there was no point in trying to be anything else. While he knew this wasn't going to make him happy, he doubted it was possible to loathe himself any more than he already did. With happiness off the table, as it always was, the single question before him was whether or not this would feel good, and as his tail continued wagging of its own volition, the answer was rather obvious.

Her nose was still rather close to his ear and he could hear her unapologetically taking in his musk. A small corner of his mind urged that he shouldn't, but it wasn't enough to stop him from doing the same to her. Her scent gave him a buzz that blew past the thin mental defenses his subconscious had in place, and further lowered his inhibitions. But what need did he have for inhibitions? It wasn't like he had anyone special he was saving himself for. He let the breath out in self-assured confidence as he said, "My name is Nick."

…

The loneliness he felt wasn't any more or less unbearable than it normally was, but as he lay on his bed, surrounded by shed fur, twisted blankets, and the pungent scent of their combined musk, he again wished that the feeling would just stop.

He knew it could have been a lot worse, though. Contrary to popular assumptions about vulpine loyalty, they were one of only a few species that had been instinctually monogamous _before_ the _Simul Consurgant_. The trait was something intrinsic to their biology, and it meant that there were certain things that foxes simply couldn't do together when they found themselves in situations like this. At least not without risking the formation of a deep-seated psychological bond that would far outlast any physical connection that they may have formed.

Even a fox like him ( _No,_ especially _a fox like me,_ he thought), was not immune to that consequence, and Nick and his partner had both stopped short of committing the indelible act. He didn't know about her, but at least for him, he was pretty sure that there was no way he would have been able to handle the emotional ramifications that might have ensued had they gone any further. Though, that wasn't to say that he hadn't had a thoroughly amazing time going as far as they did, and it pleased him greatly that he didn't need his sharp nose to tell him just how satisfied with the evening she had been, as well.

He snuggled his fluffy white companion tighter in his arms, and it felt good to have her warm body pressed into his. It didn't do anything to comfort the void he still felt inside him, but his entire day had been geared around attaining carnal pleasures, and he saw no reason to halt that pursuit now.

He sincerely believed that it would never happen, but maybe someday, he would find someone that he actually wanted to bond with, someone that fulfilled his emotional needs, and someone that he would be willing to make his mate. Until that day, though, the hollow in his heart was made much less insufferable when he filled it with the false promises of physical gratification, and given the choice, he'd choose that self-deception over emptiness alone every time.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

Here is that good day for Nick that everyone has been waiting for! I anticipate some backlash for the ending but: he doesn't know Judy is coming back, I don't buy into the ship-at-first-sight theory, and the last paragraph foreshadows his desires for what we all know his destiny is.

Some of you may be excited at the prospect of me submitting a new chapter every day, but unfortunately there will not be another one tomorrow. This and the previous 2 chapters all fit with each other and were meant to be read close together. It creates an interesting dynamic of 2 very different types of 'vacation days' and sandwiched in between is Marcus's worse than living hell; creates a deadly sharp contrast with Nick's literal day at the spa. The fact that these 3 chapters all take place within roughly the same 30 hour period also shows an interesting cross section of very different parts of the city at this same instant in time.

The term ' _Simul_ _Consurgant_ ' makes a quick appearance again. If you remember back to chapter 2, that was referenced as the unknown event that triggered consciousness in every mammal species. It's Latin and roughly translates to "We rose together at the same time."

Special thanks to eng050599 for editing this again. If you have not read his fic, _'Lost Causes and Broken Dreams'_ , you are still missing out. I help him edit it and I am fortunate enough to get some of the insider details and future plot plans; it is and will continue to be a really good story. Many of you have commented that my story is not your typical Zootopia fic, well eng050599's is even more atypical. You can find him on ff, ao3, and as one of ZNN's featured stories.


	15. Revelations

…

Day 22

…

[znn com/tech/blog/tame-band-review]

: _TAME Band_ _TM_ Review

 _By Reilly Arum_

Hey, Zootopia! My name is Reilly Arum, and ZNN has been kind enough to invite me to become one of their guest contributors, blogging about my experiences with my _TAME Band_ _TM_!

I am a 24-year-old Lion, _Panthera leo_ , who works as a barista at Snarlbucks, and for the last 10 days, I have been part of the group that has become known as the 'Tame 12'!

The other eleven and I got our _TAME Bands_ _TM_ from Mr. Talon on the very first day they were being offered. I have been so grateful for his generosity and have been wearing it ever since.

First, let me start by saying that I absolutely love it! When I first got it up on stage with Angie Anterson, and put it on, I was so excited. I had been so scared I would hurt someone before then, but now with _TAME Band_ _TM_ , I don't have to worry about it!

It's still so terrible what is happening in the city with the other predators, but if we could all just start wearing them, then it wouldn't be a problem anymore! Wearing it makes me feel even better than I did before the crisis. By wearing it, I know I'm doing my part to keep myself, and those around me, safe. It feels like the responsible thing to do, too, and I think that many of the prey mammals I see throughout the day respect me for it. I just can't imagine why any predator wouldn't want to wear one.

Other than being the right thing to do, it is just so useful! It monitors so many stats about my body and sends me custom health reports that I can check with the TAME app. These reports are way more detailed than the ones I got from my _FitByte_ , and that cost $300! I can't believe that Mr. Talon is selling these for only $99!

I can even get live updates for health alerts sent right to my phone. One of the best features is that it beeps if I get too excited, angry, or am working out too hard. Just a few days ago, I stubbed my toe and was about to get really mad when the band beeped and I realized I needed to calm down. It's great to have a reminder like that so that I can stop myself before I lose control.

A lot of my friends are so jealous of it, too. I was lucky enough to get the rose-gold band and it just compliments my mane so well I would wear it even if I didn't need to. It's also so comfortable that I don't even bother taking it off to sleep, which is great because it gives me all kinds of stats on how well I slept!

Another nice feature is that, no matter how much I toss and turn, I don't have to worry about it falling off. The clasp stays latched tight unless you enter your secret passcode into the app. This makes sure that it only comes off when you want it to!

Some of my fellow predators out there might be hesitant to buy one because you don't know how it works, but take it from me, it does work! I feel safer than I ever did before the crisis, and my friends and family around me feel safer, too. Do your part and don't let fear stop you from getting the help you need.

Don't let rumors of a shortage stop you, either. I had the amazing opportunity to talk to Mr. Talon right after the show, and he assured me that the more orders they get, the harder Talon Defense will work to get them fulfilled. So the more of you that order, the faster everyone can get one! We are all in this together, so do your part!

...

[pouncehart com/breaking-news/tame-conspiracy-uncovered]

:TAME Conspiracy Uncovered

 _By Anton Pouncehart_

Evidence suggests that tOS, the mobile operating system that Talon Defense developed to run on their product, _**TAME Band**_ _ **TM**_ **, was created BEFORE the crisis started.**

After going through extensive effort to acquire a _TAME Band_ _TM_ 4 days ago, my lead technology expert, Milly Whitecoat, has been working day and night with her pack to uncover what secrets lie within the device that Jayson Talon claims "will save the city." Late yesterday afternoon, her team was successful in extracting and decompiling the software that runs it, and they have spent all of last night confirming their results.

"One of the most alarming things we found was the Zero-Day exploit that granted us access to the code in the first place," says Milly. A 'Zero-Day' is a deficiency in the design of the hardware or software that allows hackers like Milly and her pack to gain access. "We won't be the only ones to take advantage of these [security] flaws, and because it connects to the Internet through a user's phone, it is possible that other hackers could gain control of a band while it is on your neck."

They have proved that the _**TAME Band**_ _ **TM**_ **IS hackable**. That would be bad enough if it wasn't for what else they uncovered.

"Once we were able to analyze tOS, the most interesting discoveries were not in the code itself, but in the metadata of the files that contain [the code]," said Miko Tunler, a forensic software analyst, and the member of Milly's pack that made the discovery. Metadata is not the information _inside_ a file, but rather the information _about_ a file. It includes such things as what the file name and type is, who authored it, and timestamps for when it was originally created and when it was last modified. It was those timestamps that Miko said first caught his attention.

"Most of the core files have creation dates from years ago, and most have [last time] modified dates from well before the crisis started. I take this to imply that the program existed long before anyone had a reason to write it," said Miko.

Does this mean that Talon Defense knew that the crisis was going to happen _before_ it actually started? According to Milly, not necessarily. "To speed up development time, it is common to recycle old blocks of code that are known to work, instead of developing new ones from scratch. Many of the core tOS functions are the same as any other mobile OS, so this on its own is not necessarily proof of anything. To prove that the _TAME Band_ _TM_ was developed before the crisis, we would need to find and analyze functions that are specific to what this particular device does," said Milly.

And Milly found just that while looking at a file named 'estimmarshal'. "From what we can tell, this is the code that controls the 'if, when, and how much' the wearer should be shocked. It seems to be the nexus point where all the information from the biometric sensors is sent and processed, and it is the only subroutine in the entire system that has permission to control the electrode hardware and deliver a shock. I believe that this part of the program would never have had a reason to exist before [ _TAME Band_ _TM_ ]," explains Milly.

Could it be possible for a glitch or an accident to cause the date to be wrong? Miko doesn't think so. "During development, programmers keep track of their progress by using sequential version numbers or by using a number that represents a date. Many put those tracking numbers in the notes of the code itself. We found such notes in many of the subroutines and were able to match the numbers with the dates in the metadata. This shows that date versioning is the method these programmers used, and we can use that to double-verify the authenticity of the metadata," says Miko.

Milly explains what they found when they checked the 'estimmarshal' file, the file that had no reason to exist prior to the development of the _TAME Band_ _TM_ , a device that had no reason to exist prior to the crisis. "When we looked at the version notes [in the 'estimmarshal' file], it matched the metadata, just like the other files," she says.

This is proof that the date in the metadata of that file is authentic and it shows that this part of **the program was written and finalized** **7 months ago**. In fact, **every file we analyzed was** **older than 4 months** , with the bulk being more than a year old.

But what about the hardware? "There would be no way to effectively finalize an operating system without the actual hardware to test it on," says Miko.

 **This is irrefutable proof that Talon Defense's** _ **TAME Band**_ _ **TM**_ **, was finalized more than** **3 months before** **the Recidivism Crisis started.**

 **This is irrefutable proof that Talon Defense knew the Recidivism Crisis was going to happen** **BEFORE** **it started.**

Don't take our word for it though, check it out for yourself. We have released the entire source code _here_ as well as a detailed description of all the Zero-Day vulnerabilities we have found and how we exploited them _here_.

Pouncehart Media has just broken Talon Defense's End User License Agreement by decrypting the source code and making public the intellectual property of Talon Defense, as well as disclosing the massive security, and thus _safety,_ vulnerabilities in their product.

On the question of ethics: My pack was in unanimous agreement that it would have been wrong for us to not report this. Zootopia needs to know that the _TAME Band_ _TM_ is a dangerous product, and it was never designed to help you.

On the question of legality: That is something the Talon Defense legal team will need to figure out.

Against the advice of my own legal counsel, I issue this challenge: **Please sue us, Mr. Talon.** I would revel the opportunity to perform discovery on you and find out exactly what you knew, when you knew it, and how you found out about it.

…

Nick chortled an exhale through his snout as he shook his head. With wry amusement, he said, "I'm glad I'm not him. That fox is gonna' wake up at the bottom of the harbor one of these days."

"What fox?" Finnick grumbled without looking up from level three hundred eighty-nine of _KibbleCrush_.

They were in the van again, trying to keep warm while waiting for their pawpsicles to freeze. Both had been _indisposed_ with the consequences of the previous night when they'd awoken yesterday, and they'd taken that day off too, but today it was back to the hustle.

While Nick's list of friends was rather short, perhaps even non-existent, his figurative rolodex of acquaintances was unmatched, and last evening he'd only had to make three calls to find a contact that was interested in an extra fifty bucks.

Trey had worked with Nick and Finnick at Buggaburger a few years back when they'd attempted to try a more traditional form of employment. The rhino had never been above the foxes' antics nor did he fear the laughable prospect of fending off eighty pounds of ferocious red fluff should his meeting with Nick not go as planned. Luckily, mostly for Nick's sake, the exchange of sixty-five dollars and a single blue jumbo-pop went off without a single savage hitch.

"Pouncehart," Nick responded while he flicked through his phone to another article. "He just released a bunch of flaws his pack found in that collar thing, and he thinks that the company knew about the savages a few months ago," he said with slightly shocked disbelief. As if seeking a reaction from Finnick, Nick rolled his head towards him with wide eyes and added, "Like before there were any savages."

"I don't know why you read that crap," Finnick growled, not only uninterested but annoyed that Nick had brought it up.

Nick scowled and scoffed back, "Yeah, you're right. What you do is _so_ much more productive."

Finnick put his phone down and looked at Nick with an angry glower that more than matched Nick's expression. He snarled out, "You just sit there and read that shit every day and you get yourself so worked up I can literally smell it. You reek of how anxious it makes you. And for what? You really think someone planned all this? You really think reading about every attack, every bloody detail of how many mammals were injured or killed, is going to do a damn thing to stop it? Do you really think you're making a difference at all?"

Nick's expression hardened and there was no hiding how angry the diatribe had just made him. He wasn't even sure why it bothered him so much, and that just made him even angrier.

He gave a low growl and bared his teeth for a moment. He finished it with a huff through his nose and turned his head towards the door. "I'm getting a coffee," Nick said with gruff aggravation, purposefully not asking if his partner wanted one. He opened the door, hopped into the snow drift outside, and then slammed the door shut.

…

Nick's crossed arms and menacing expression were as much a reflection of his internal disposition as it was a result of how unbelievably cold he was. Harsh tundra winds cut easily through the thin fabric of his orange shirt, and rippled through his red fur while his breath shot jets of condensation into the air.

 _...Do you really think you're making a difference at all?.._

The words kept running through his head and continued to build his anger. He was embarrassed that Finnick had seen right through how much the crisis was getting to him, and he was more than irritated that the fennec had seen fit to bring it up the way he had. But the thing that made Nick the most furious was the obvious answer to the question that had been asked.

 _No, I don't think I'm making a difference at all._

Nothing he ever did made a difference. Nothing he ever did mattered.

 _But I want it to._

He couldn't figure out why he did, but the revelation mixed sorrow through his anger. He'd gone almost his whole life so far without needing it to have meaning, but he'd also gone that long without truly knowing what it meant to have it.

In his moment of weakness the memories he desperately wished he'd never formed sprang forth.

… _you'd actually make a pretty good cop…_

He couldn't imagine why someone like him would ever want to be a cop and he wasn't even sure if that was what he actually wanted in the first place. Ever since the incident with the Ranger Scouts, it was the only thing he'd ever had that gave him this feeling of wanting to do something that mattered, and so he couldn't help but keep going back to it.

He could remember how it had felt to fill out that ZPD application. He'd imagined himself helping mammals, instead of hurting them. He'd imagined being trusted, instead of suspected. He'd imagined making a difference, instead of being completely worthless.

It had been the first time in his adult life that he'd ever considered those as viable options. For the first time ever, he'd seen a light at the end of a tunnel he hadn't even known he was in. However, that light had now been turned off, those future probabilities returned to zero, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake his craving for even the echoes of the facsimiled emotions he'd had while signing his name to the bottom of that form.

It wasn't just that he had nothing in his future, he'd always had nothing in his future, it was that he could now see it for the nothingness that it was. He'd been blind to it before, and it kept coming back to haunt him because it wasn't a memory at all. He could no more forget how empty his future was than he could forget how to use his eyes.

 _...it would be nice to have a partner…_

Like the reality of his pointless future, he'd seen his hollow past for what it was, too. Worse than just imagining what it felt like to be cared about, he'd actually felt it. It contrasted so heavily with what his existence had been prior to that moment that he couldn't help but see the difference now. He'd have to forget his entire life to forget how lonely his past was.

It wasn't just his past, though, it was every waking moment of the present. He'd never felt so alone as when he'd been with that arctic fox a couple of nights ago. He wouldn't miss her and she wouldn't miss him.

He considered that it might be nice to be missed by someone. In a barely conscious thought he wondered if perhaps Judy missed him. He wasn't sure that he necessarily missed her, but something inside him longed for the way she'd made him feel. He considered if maybe that's what missing someone was, though; he didn't have a lot of experience with the sentiment.

As he continued to trudge through the bitter bluster he flipped between emotions of anger and depression until the two melded into a generalized frustration at the realization that perhaps he'd truly broken himself. He'd somehow gotten it stuck in his head that he could be more, could have more, and could do more. He'd thought he'd suppressed those thoughts a dozen times in the last few weeks, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the desire to be something more than just a sly con artist fox. He couldn't get rid of it because it wasn't just some memory or feeling, it was an idea, a perspective, and a new way of seeing the world.

It had been so cruel of life to show him how good, how _happy_ , it made him to have true companionship and to do something that _mattered_ , and then to forever put those things out of his reach. Finnick was right, he couldn't help any of those mammals in the attacks, but that didn't mean he didn't want to. He couldn't find companionship at a bar either, but that didn't mean he didn't need it.

The revelation that he wanted to help at all, despite all the barriers that had been placed in front of him, spoke to a greater need within himself.

 _But who wants help from a fox?_

He sighed at the futility of his desires. He would have much rather gone through the rest of his life not knowing he craved those things. The realization that he might have to live with knowing how empty his life was forever, that he would never be able to successfully suppress it permanently, haunted him and gave him a chill that matched the weather he was slogging through.

He'd passed up two coffee shops already and decided that he ought to stop at the one coming up while he still had his toes. As he approached the door of the Snarlbucks, he noted a sign that had been placed in the window:

' _TAME Preds ONLY'_

The challenge brought him back to the moment and reminded him of the reality that was his life. He might not be able to keep his deluded feelings suppressed forever, but reminders like this made it a lot easier to try.

 _I am a fox. I am a predator. There is no point in trying to be anything else._

He shook the snow and his troubled thoughts from his shoulders. A wry grin crept over his muzzle as he put his paw to the door and defiantly stepped inside.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

Long notes section today so I am going to do my shoutouts up front.

Special thanks to eng050599 for editing this again. You are missing out if you have not read his fic, _'Lost Causes and Broken Dreams'_. It was a great fic upfront, but now that it has been going on for a while, he is really starting to capitalize on the story arcs and characters he built. You can find him on ff, ao3, and as one of ZNN's featured stories.

Reilly is so hip and trendy, am I right?! I am not sure if he will be back, but his perspective is important to see here as it gives contrast to some of the other characters we are following, and he shows that the Bellwether plan isn't complete hogwash, it could work. Controversial issues always have Kool-Aid drinkers on both sides but just because someone is excited and has a personal story to go with it, does not make them correct. But in real life, you don't get to read the chapters about what the bad guys are thinking, so while it's easy to say Reilly is wrong or ignorant, would you be able to tell if you didn't know that collars were a bad thing?

Hopefully you noticed some of the more technical aspects of the collars, I mean _bands_ , here as well. It was hard to find a way to showcase that in a narratively interesting way, hopefully I did. At any rate, it would be a real bummer if tOS got an update that changed the 'beeping' to a shock, or if the app didn't accept the unlock code for some reason…

The term 'discovery' as referenced in the last sentence of Pouncehart's article, is a process during the early part of a lawsuit in which each party is allowed to ask questions and gather evidence. I wouldn't call it 'popular' but this threat has precedence in recent years with investigative journalists who are unofficially accused of slander or libel (making false statements). A journalist will challenge their accuser to sue them for making false claims, and when the accuser does not (often citing that it isn't worth perusing) the journalist usually considers this as proof that the statement was correct and that the company has something to hide. Even if the journalist was wrong about that specific statement, the discovery process can still be damaging if the accuser has something else to hide.

Some of you have the idea that Pouncehart is just a crazy fox blogger in his basement. While he may be crazy…he does have staff and resources. In real life, there are quite a few alternative media organizations that are able to use the internet to leverage the same or, in many cases, more audience than the mainstream establishment media empires.

Nick's dilemma with the news is something a lot of people struggle with. Some of us are like Fin, and 'just don't care' and some are like Nick (or a lot worse) and are buried in it all the time. Finnick might be a tad ignorant here, but he isn't wrong about Nick getting himself worked up. I, like many of you, had a pretty bad case of USA election burnout this past month and have hardly followed a single current event since. As I'm getting back on the horse of being informed, I will effort to keep more balance in my life this time; not being obsessed, but not avoiding it completely. I encourage you to do the same, and like Nick, I encourage you to get multiple perspectives from several sources, _especially_ if that source is from an outlet that is considered to be the on the wrong side of your ideology/beliefs/politics.

Is the Snarlbucks that Nick walks into at the end the same one that Reilly works at? I'll never tell.


	16. Demanding Supply

Note: 'Sub-Saharan painted wolf' is an alternate name for the African Wild Dog. While the latter is the most common name, many researchers (in real life) believe that it gives the creature a negative stereotype and prefer the former as it is more neutral and more descriptive. You will get to see some of the differences in those naming conventions play out in this chapter, but I just wanted to make a quick note so you can avoid any confusion as to what Rigel is.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

…

Day 23

…

Rigel Trich stared blankly at the zeroed out tachometer of his Pawdi Z8, still refusing to believe that it had come to this. His mind was trapped in an endless loop of not wanting this to be real, and realizing that it was inescapable. The sub-Saharan painted wolf's heart and breath raced, while his richly patterned paws death gripped the steering wheel as though only it alone was responsible for keeping him grounded to the planet.

It was the uncertainty that scared him the most. His entire career had revolved around ensuring that there was never any surprises, no shocking revelations, and that nothing exciting of any kind ever happened. It was the certainty of knowing that removed such ambiguities from life and turned it into something that wasn't just useful, but something that had meaning, purpose, and _value_. Designing simulations, projecting forecasts, and running the numbers weren't just things he was good at; having been the lead risk manager for _JP Maregan's_ biggest hedge fund for the last fifteen years told him that he was the very best. Ironically, it was that same predilection for eliminating risk from the world had landed him in the incalculably risky situation he now faced.

It wasn't supposed to be like this for him. He'd worked his tail off to ensure that he and his family never wanted for anything, and that their only struggles in life were for abstracts, never anything physical. Mammals like him weren't supposed to be in situations like this and he growled at the dash while he felt his claws scraping against the magnesium alloyed steering wheel as he gripped it harder.

The lifestyle that he and his family had become accustomed to was centered around the continuous torrent of cash that flowed from his employment and expertly crafted investment portfolio. He'd of course built risk management into his own finances, but he hadn't, no one had, ever predicted a meltdown of this scale or of this velocity. Regardless of how minute the probability _had been_ , it _was_ happening, and he had been very ill-prepared for the consequences.

On paper, the last three weeks had seen an eight digit figure removed from the value of his real estate holdings. But that was nothing compared to the performance of his market accounts; he was beating the pelt off the Sow Jones…on the downside. By all definitions he was already insolvent, and it would only be a few more months, half a year at most, before his creditors realized it too.

He gave a nervous laugh as he considered that the underwater mortgages on his mansion and rental properties were very likely tranched somewhere in the fund he managed. The laugh darkened into a whined growl as he corrected himself: _used_ to manage.

Three days ago, he and his mate had been dining at one of the finest restaurants in Zootopia when the email came. It wasn't uncommon for him to have to leave the table for something business related, and he'd done well in making the occurrence seem as mundane as ever. He'd barely made it to the lavatory before he started throwing up, and at that point he'd only skimmed the first paragraph. Another ten minutes after, he'd finished the email and proceeded to dry heave bile for several more minutes. After a bit of cleaning himself up in the sink and the liberal application of some scent masker, he'd calmed himself enough to return to his wife and she'd been none the wiser that he was now technically unemployed.

It was utter insanity that the board had seen it as more risky to have a potentially savage predator stalking the building than it was to sack their lead financial risk assessor during a period of time which had already achieved wide consensus as being the worst financial disaster in history.

Thinking of what the email had said still made him queasy but it was starting to elicit a non-trivial amount of anger now too. It hadn't been just a direct firing, but rather an ultimatum: one year of severance in return for an early retirement or suspension without pay until he was able to comply with the new corporate safety mandates. The mandate stated that the firm needed some type of assurance that he wasn't going to suddenly snap and start killing his co-workers. It had also been very specific that there was only one acceptable way to comply with the new standard: _TAME Band._

He and his wife had naturally discussed the devices after the announcement, he supposed most predators had, but any opinions on the matter were irrelevant; there were none to be had. The waiting list was months officially, but as rumor had it, it could be more than a year before anyone would be able to get their paws on one, and at the time, he'd been pretty confident that someone like him didn't need one anyways.

Maybe it was some type of cosmic justice that had landed him here. The thought that he would even consider something supernatural as being the cause for anything in his life disgusted his analytical mind. He knew that it was nothing more than a coincidence that the reason he hadn't wanted a band was because of his belief that _savagery_ was a problem of the _commoners_ , and not something someone like him had to worry about. He'd even openly speculated the theory that this was likely some type of new street narcotic, and that while it was terrible and needed to be stopped, it wasn't anything well-off mammals like him needed to worry about. In a lot of ways he still believed all that, but the point was moot; regardless of his personal condition, the only thing his colleagues could see was a dangerous predator.

He'd been through a few erratic market cycles before; one just after he finished his MBA, and another several years ago. The defining characteristic of the ones he'd lived through and the ones he'd studied was that the market _always_ bounced back. It was only logical that it would come back again, but he hadn't made it this far without having a prescient intuition for the future, and that instinct told him that this time was going to be different. Even without the _feeling_ , the basic premise of this crisis was completely unique. If it was true what they were saying, that this was genetic, it was going to force a societal shift the likes of which hadn't been seen since the _First Treaty_ ; maybe it already was.

He still refused to believe this could happen to someone of his status, but clearly others did, and if he wasn't able to get some stability back into his situation soon, he wasn't going to have that prestige for much longer.

His fur bristled in response to an ancient reflex designed to make him appear larger than he was in order to fend off would-be attackers. It was an unwelcomed relic of a behavior, as he knew looking big and tough wasn't going to do a damn thing to protect him or his family from the ravages of being worse than flat broke, and that was exactly where they were headed. There was quite a bit of truth to the old adage of 'the bigger they are, the harder they fall' when it came to wealth, but he kept telling himself that it didn't matter; he was getting one of those cursed _bands_ , he was getting his job back, and he wasn't going to lose his affluent standing.

Even if he was able to retain his socioeconomic ranking, he could already feel a downgrade by the mere fact that he was a predator and that others saw him as such. The last section of the email had driven home that point for him. It had said that, if he was receiving this message, then his access to corporate resources had already been suspended, his building access revoked, and that upon the triggering of a digital read-receipt attached to this email, the mobile plan on his company phone would be canceled and that the device was already in the process of being remotely wiped.

They hadn't been kidding either; he'd been too worked up before reading the closing section to notice that the network status at the top of his screen had changed to say 'No Coverage' and when he'd attempted to navigate away from the email, the device had locked up as a notification box with no cancel button appeared and clearly proclaimed, 'Factory Reset in Progress'. They didn't just want to keep untamed predators out of the building, they wanted them completely disassociated from the firm.

He drew a quick startled breath as the bass of his professional grade sound system vibrated his mirrors with a ringtone specific to only one mammal in his contacts. He hadn't realized the Bluefang was still connected and he squeezed his eyes shut, growled, and punched a knob on the dash to turn the sound off.

He couldn't just reject the call outright because then his wife would know that he'd seen it, and chosen not to answer. He had to let it ring so that she thought he just missed it, but there was no way that he was going to be able to listen to its entire ring cycle without ripping his fur out.

He hated himself for not telling her about it yet. In the days since he'd received his ultimatum, he had just locked himself in his home office and told her that he was working from home for the next few days. He wished that could have been true, but unlike him, the email hadn't lied, and his virtual private network access had been rescinded.

He'd spent that evening and well into the next morning running the numbers on his situation and figuring out just how well and truly knotted he was; he threw up twice while confirming the results. Later that afternoon a third session of violent heaving was triggered by the realization that the only way he'd even stand a chance of making it out of this without having his fur repossessed, was by submitting to his new terms of employment. He was going to have to wear a band like some type of drug using peasant, or face the reality of actually living like one himself.

He'd spent the rest of the evening and most of the next day hunting for a band online and calling stores, but he'd found only dead ends. From what he could tell, after having been _available_ for over a week, hardly a single predator in the city had received what the media kept touting as 'the revolutionary solution everyone has been waiting for'. But he didn't have any more time to wait, he needed one now.

Rigel's best friend, pack mate, and, after a night of excessively heavy drinking a few years back, _blood brother_ , was a red wolf by the name of Kivo Nychi. Financial hardship had never been a concern for either during their relationship, and it was a sense of pride that had made Rigel reluctant to contact him at first. But they had known each other since university, been the best-wolf at each other's bonding ceremonies, and their families had done just about everything imaginable together for the last two decades. The lupine was also the closest thing that Rigel had to a partner at the firm and after coming to the realization that he wasn't going to be able to figure this out alone, he finally called Kivo.

The red wolf had gone through a very similar set of tribulations during the preceding days and had come to the same conclusion; he needed a TAME Band, or it was lights out for life as he knew it. Unlike Rigel however, he'd already been successful in acquiring one.

As terribly embarrassed as Kivo had been to admit that he was going to wear one, he had been even more ashamed that he hadn't consulted Rigel first.

"I've failed you, brother," he'd said sorrowfully. "I honestly thought that you'd just take the deal. I… I didn't realize…"

Rigel wished to the Makers he didn't believe in that he was the resilient and prepared mammal that Kivo saw him as. He didn't blame him though; Rigel had honestly thought the same thing about Kivo, and the only reason Rigel had reached out in the first place was desperation. Some part of him found comfort in knowing that their bond transcended their mutual tax bracket, but that was very little conciliation for the literal price it was costing him to test it.

Kivo had made the discovery of a secondary resale market for bands after a rather reluctant visit to several pawn shops throughout the city. He'd made the transaction late the night before and as Rigel had suspected, it wasn't cheap, and the seller required cash.

It felt strange that someone like him should have a hard time acquiring thousands of dollars in paper currency, but he had hardly ever carried anything more than plastic in years. He had awkwardly tried to go to his bank early this morning and found out that last week, his institution, along with many others, had enacted daily withdrawal limits, and they had refused to give him more than a few hundred of the dollars he had stored there. While he would deal with that abomination of customer service eventually, he needed a solution today. While raiding his home document vault for the few gold coins that constituted his hedge against a total market collapse, he'd wished again that he had been better prepared. He would never have guessed the specifics of what was currently happening in the city, but it had been hubris to think that _something_ on this scale could never happen, and he was now paying the price. While the coin dealer he'd visited a few hours ago had discounted his gold _Cougarrands_ substantially, he'd still received considerably more than what their value had been even a month ago, and he'd gotten away with only selling two.

In an attempt to redeem himself, Kivo had gone through the effort of setting up the meeting for Rigel, but it was Rigel who now found himself parked in a slightly shadier part of the meadowlands with nearly four thousand dollars of paper cash stuffed in a duffle bag, waiting on his phone to ring with a text message that would have the location where the transaction was to take place.

 _Fuck…_

Realizing he had just effectively silenced his ringer when his wife had called, he frantically grabbed the device out of the center console.

[1 Text Message]

"FUCK!" He barked as he punched the nav system hard enough to put spiderwebbed cracks into its now flickering screen.

He unlocked his phone and saw that the notification was from two minutes ago. He tapped on the geo tag in the message and relaxed only slightly when he found it to be just a mere three blocks away.

He stepped out of the car and heard the quiet thump of the perfectly engineered vertical door latching to the frame when he closed it. He stared at his own reflection in the darkly tinted glass for a second, then closed his eyes tightly, and took a deep breath to steady himself. He opened his eyes again and used his paws to do some last minute grooming on his face, then used them to brush away some of his shed fur and the few wrinkles that clung to his sport coat. Dignity was becoming a very precious commodity for him, and he would do all he could to preserve its value.

He was as ready as he was going to be and he turned to walk the few blocks to the alleyway that the message had specified. The distinct lack of other mammals on the once busy streets was disconcerting, but he felt some relief that no one was around to see him in this shameful state.

He arrived at the entrance to the alley and consulted his phone once more to make sure he was in the proper place. He was, but it was empty. He turned to look at the street behind him. There were a few passing cars and a single goat walking some distance away. He turned back to face the alley and spread his digits a tad, just in case his courage was not enough to make it to the end of the stretch. Slowly, he prowled forward and swiveled his head, looking to either side for both potential threats and the dealer that was supposed to meet him here; he found neither.

He reached the dumpster at the far side of the dead-end corridor and turned back around to survey his situation.

"Hello?" He shouted hesitantly into the emptiness.

His predatory instincts jumped as he realized the implications of being surrounded by multi-story brick walls on three sides. This had been a terrible idea. He shouldn't have come here. This had been a move of desperation and those always carried high risk. He should have just sat at home and waited like everyone else. He'd find another way to fix this; a way that preserved his pride, living standards, and didn't require the risk of making purchases in the back of an alleyway like some type of tranq-addict.

His instincts clouded his reason for being here and he was just about to make a run for it back to his car when a steel door from one of the buildings screeched open. The angle was such that he couldn't see the mammal that was walking through it until he'd cleared the door. Rigel's heart rate jumped with anticipation, but it skipped a beat when a second door, one on the other side, began to open as well, and his head jerked to look at it as his body instinctively began to crouch.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…._

Several more doors on both sides opened and his darting eyes were having a hard time keeping up with the movement as he began to slowly take a step backwards.

He smelled the rams at about the same time as he finally saw one. Through the five doors that had opened, two rams had walked out of each, and now blocked his only means of escape back onto the street.

"They didn't tell me you were a _wild dog_ ," the ram closest to him said in a nasally voice that Rigel would only describe as uneducated, and weak.

Rigel lowered his ears and his muzzle quivered with a low fanged growl in response to the specist slur. No one talked down to him like that, especially not some scoundrel woolhead.

Popping cracks emanated from the blue-white arcs jumping between the electrodes of a Fox Taser. The noise broke Rigel's growl, and his ears went back up as he stared at it with his head cocked ever so slightly. His wide eyes were mesmerized by how completely knotted he was right now. He may have belonged to a particularly vicious branch of the canid family tree, but there was no way he would be able to take on ten rams, especially if they were armed.

"That's right, _dirt fur_ ," the sheep spoke with the unfounded indignation of someone who didn't actually have as much power as they thought they did; Rigel knew it well. "You just take it easy now. No sudden moves, or I might think you're going savage, and then I'll have to…" He finished his sentence by arcing the Fox Taser again.

Rigel could smell ozone in the air and realized he was going to have to submit, or risk a TAME Band not being the only thing he left here without. He wasn't used to being out of control like this, especially when it was some low class sheep trying to boss him around. Submission was not one of the options present in the fight or flight binary that his adrenaline was pushing for, and it took him a considerable amount of effort to forcibly relax his posture.

"That's a good dog," said the sheep mockingly.

Atavistic bar-eyes studied Rigel's ornately patterned face for some time. His alpha positioning in society made it rare that he wasn't in control of a situation and traits from his species made it nearly impossible for him to relax while cornered like this. Some part of him spawned the dim fantasy of wishing to go savage, right here, right now, and teach his captors a lesson. The dark thoughts and silent staring made Rigel's fur crawl and he finally became uncomfortable enough that he broke the silence.

"I was told you have TAME Bands for sale?" the painted wolf said with a tone of aggravated impatience that he was unable to suppress.

"You look like you got some money, pup," the ram responded.

Rigel narrowed his eyes and said slowly, "Yeah."

"You got cash?" the ram inquired.

"Yeah," said Rigel nervously. He'd brought more than double what Kivo had said he'd paid, but right now it seemed he may have to pay them that much just to leave with his life intact.

The ram seemed to consider it for a second, then said, "Two thousand."

"I heard you had it for fifteen hundred yesterday," Rigel protested. His financial negotiator reflexes had jumped ahead of his ability to think before he spoke and he immediately regretted the argument.

"That was yesterday," the sheep sounded annoyed. "Twenty-five hundred now."

Rigel was not used to being the one downhill during a negotiation. He always had alternatives and wasn't afraid to let the other side of the table know it. He also knew he should just accept before they wanted more money than he had, but in response to the psychological corner they'd backed him into, anger lashed out in preparation to fight his way out. "That thing pre-orders for ninety-nine dollars," Rigel growled irately through his teeth.

"Then go pre-order it," the sheep said haughtily, then turned around and took a step towards the door he'd arrived through.

Rigel's ears went back and his eyes went wide as he lunged forward. "WAIT!" he shouted desperately.

The sounds of cracking clicks halted his advance, but the sheep had stopped too.

It wasn't the price that was making Rigel's stomach turn. Subconsciously, he still couldn't imagine wearing one, but consciously, he didn't know how his life could go on without it. Whether it was explaining to his mate why he was wearing something meant for dangerous criminals, or explaining to his two pups that they were going to lose their house, both possible futures felt unbearable to him. The stark difference between the paths ahead was what the long term impact on his family would be; there was only one option he could realistically choose.

Reluctantly and quietly, Rigel said, "I'll pay…"

"I didn't hear you, _mud coat_ ," the ram snarled sternly, still with his back turned.

The insult obliterated the last of his injured pride and Rigel looked down at the ground as he said louder and more articulately, "I'll pay."

"It'll cost you whatever's in that bag," the ram said as he turned back around.

Rigel's spirit was broken. He closed his eyes and said, "Fine, here," as he held out the duffle.

The ram looked to a pair of his comrades and nodded his head. The set approached Rigel, one with a Fox Taser extended, the other carrying a shiny green box.

The one holding the box took the bag from Rigel, set it on the ground and began hoofing through it while the other had his eyes locked on the predator his flock had cornered.

Satisfied, the one counting the contents of the bag looked back to his leader and said, "It's good, boss."

The lead ram nodded his head, and the one in front of Rigel stood and swung the duffle over his shoulder. He tossed the green box to Rigel, who was unprepared and caught it awkwardly.

"Enjoy your safety, _mutt,_ " the lead sheep snickered at him as the gang began to depart the way they'd come.

…

Rigel stood in his bathroom and stared at the reflection of wet trails of fur running from his dead eyes down to his chin. After what had seemed like hours, he tore his vacant gaze from his miserable form and looked at the silver band in his shaking paw.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

Not everyone wants to avoid them for the same reason, and not everyone want to wear them for the same reason either. The only universal truth: no predator is safe. Perhaps it's even the ones most well off that are in the greatest danger.

Rigel and Kivo may return. I like the dynamic of them being elitists and still having to deal with the situation like everyone else. Money doesn't equal safety anymore.

The _First Treaty_ makes an appearance here again. It was originally introduced in the chapter _Red Pelt_ and it is the original agreement between predator and prey. In the movie, the mural of this event can be seen in the subway station under the Natural History Museum.

Nick will be back in the next chapter and there will be a special appearance (sort of) by someone a lot of you have been asking about.

Special thanks to eng050599 for editing this again!


	17. Good Cops Like Them

…

Day 24

…

[znn com/breaking-alerts/rss/]

-Savage Dies After Being Struck By a City Bus

-Pressure on Talon Defense to Deliver _TAME Bands_ _TM_ Mounting as Production Deadline is Missed

-4 Now Dead after 75 Attacks

-Is Predator Discrimination Legal?

…

[pouncehart com/headlines/rss]

-Mass Predator Layoffs Coming or Already Here?

-Lights Out for Opposition to Hayworth's Curfew Proposition

-Inside Zootopia National Guard Triage Centers

-Talon Defense Declines to Comment on Allegations that _TAME Band_ _TM_ was Developed BEFORE the Crisis

…

Day 25

…

The grand double doors to the mayor's office latched shut and Chief Bogo stared at the flush surface they'd formed with the wall. He blinked slowly and took a long breath as he tried to compose himself before turning back to face his boss.

Bellwether returned his look despondently.

"I should never have let her go up there and talk to the press," Bogo said regretfully as he shook his head. He reached out to pick up the badge that _former_ ZPD Officer Judy Hopps had just left behind. "She's thought this whole thing was her fault from the start." He held up the badge and stared at the reflection of himself cast on the brass shield he'd just failed. "I put her in a situation she wasn't ready for."

"She had to know that this was going to happen with or without her. In fact, she's the only reason that we were able to get out ahead of this as much as we did," Bellwether reasoned quietly, still in disbelief that her personal prey luminary had just resigned.

Her argument fell flat on the Chief's ears. So far as he knew, Bellwether was right that the _Savage Crisis_ , as he was starting to call it, would have gone on with or without Judy's discovery, but he had a hard time accepting that _this_ is what qualified for ' _getting out ahead'_ of the crisis.

"If anyone is to blame, it's me," said Bellwether in an attempt to sound comforting. "I pushed you into letting her do it."

The Chief considered it. He wasn't normally the type to be pushed around by anyone. He'd forged a rather _stable_ working relationship with Lionheart over the last few years, and the lion had allowed Bogo the freedom to run the ZPD how he saw fit...well, for the most part anyways. The slightly evasive public relations stunts, like the _Mammal Inclusion Initiative_ , were few and far between, and seemingly a modest price to pay for the otherwise quiet autonomy that he enjoyed. Though, after the scandal that removed Lionheart from office, Bogo suspected that there may have been other reasons the feline had kept him at arm's length.

Bellwether, on the other hoof, was becoming more and more intrusive every day. At a time when he most needed sovereignty to conduct operations as his experience saw fit, her interference with micromanaging every daily detail of ZPD operations was starting to put his subordinates in even more danger than the savages were. But she was now his superior, and the opinion he held of her leadership ability aside, he respected the office, the chain of command, and the necessity for the government to maintain some semblance of cohesive order during this troubled time.

He still had a duty though, and contrary to popular belief, that duty was not to protect the citizens of Zootopia. That job belonged to those under his command, and they were the ones that it was a Chief's responsibility to protect. As it was though, bureaucracy was usually their biggest threat, and chain of command or not, he owed it to them to stand his ground and defend them whenever possible.

The Chief sighed. "While we're on that subject then," the Chief said cautiously, "I think we need to review the ZPD's relationship with the Mayor's office."

"Hmm?" Bellwether said as she looked at him in innocent confusion. "What do you mean?"

' _She knows damn well what I mean,'_ Bogo thought.

"Do you mean the staffing changes I requested?" She knew he did. "How is that going, by the way?"

Bogo gave another weary sigh. "I've already rotated several in support positions to less visible roles," he said without specifying _who_ he was talking about; they both knew _who_ he meant. "The first batch of transfers from Pawlantis and Malmuria arrived yesterday, but they are already showing integration difficulties; their cities are nothing like ours. I'm leaving the patrol roster the way it is until these transfers get acclimated."

Bellwether frowned slightly. "That's not what I asked you to do," she said disappointedly.

"You asked me to get predators out of view. That's what I'm working towards. But I'm not going to cripple the ZPD in the process," Bogo said firmly.

"What if one of them goes savage while on patrol? Have you thought of that?" she interrogated.

"Every. Day…" Bogo said in a very low, nearly growling voice. What little time he had for sleep these days, was spent sweating with night terrors of that very situation. The implication that he hadn't thought of it offended him greatly, but he was successful in keeping most of that sentiment stowed behind his resolute professionalism.

Bellwether went on stubbornly, "Your job, _both_ our jobs, is to keep this city safe. I don't like it either, but it's what we have to do."

Bogo had foreseen this discussion long ago and began reciting the arguments that he'd already pre-prepared for such an occasion. Using the tone he usually reserved for impatient civilians, he explained slowly, "Tying the paws of my best cops is not the way to keep the city safe. I know there is a risk that one of them _might_ go savage, but I also know that there is practically a guarantee that a civilian will go savage. Simply removing my best from the field without adequate replacements is a much bigger risk to the city, I promise you that."

"But the optics of it; civilians don't feel safe seeing predators out there," Bellwether said with the smallest note of irritation in her voice, as though the point should not have had to be expounded.

"I don't care how safe they _feel_ , I care how safe they _are_." Bogo responded irascibly.

"You need to find a way to do both," she retorted in a lightly cheery, nearly musical voice.

Bogo knew the tone to be her way of dismissing his statement, but he managed to keep his aggravation tamped down. "I am doing what you asked, but you have to allow for some transition time," the Chief argued as rationally as he could. "You're talking about replacing over forty percent of the force. You understand that it's going to take time to do that properly, right?"

Bogo was never one to make excuses for anything, but in light of the unreasonable requests he'd been given, it was one of the only defenses he had left.

"What is it that's the problem, Chief? I thought these transfer cops were already trained. Why aren't you just putting them out on the streets now?" Bellwether asked in a tone that made it seem like the question was rhetorical and meant to be a roundabout way of telling him how he should be doing his job.

The Chief stifled a groan. "Mayor, as you know, we are the only city in the country with species diversity on this scale, and none have anywhere near this many climate zones. Pawlantis has four, and Malmuria only two. If I just toss them on the streets with no training, someone is going to get hurt…or worse."

Bellwether sighed. "I understand." She reached out across the desk and pulled Judy's poster towards her to look at it. "I think we should still run this as a recruitment campaign then; we are going to need more Zootopian natives on the force eventually anyways." She looked up at the Chief. "Don't you think?"

The Chief didn't miss her implication that the need for prey officers would be permanent, and responded simply with, "More Zootopian natives on the force would be better, yes."

"In the meantime, how soon until the transfers can take over for the officers in question?" Bellwether asked.

The Chief felt completely disgusted with himself for what his plan was. Even more sickening was the thought that she wouldn't think he was going far enough. Everything he ever did was for his officers. He cared for them more than anything, even if most of the time, the best way to show that was by pretending he didn't care at all. He'd never hesitated to knock a mammal down a few pegs and he'd even busted some all the way back to the academy. On rare occasions he'd had to discharge a few for various conducts unbecoming. Every time though, there was reason and purpose behind his wrath, and at the root of every one of those motives was the ingrained sense of responsibility that he had to protect his herd. The predators in his herd had done nothing wrong and penalizing them for it would go against everything he stood for.

He spoke slowly and methodically, as if taking more time to say it would hinder its becoming real. "Next week, the first group of replacements will be ready. There will be a lottery for current predator officers each time substitutes become available." He paused a moment as he steeled himself for the last part. From the first moment he'd had the idea he knew that she would eventually find out. He also knew that there was very little she could do to stop him, so he pressed on. "The officers selected will be put on _paid_ administrative leave."

Bellwether gasped slightly and protested hastily. "Wha- I-I, I thought you were…" she stammered before finally getting out, "We don't have the resources to keep that many on the force!"

"I don't care," Bogo said decisively. "They are good cops, and I am not firing them." Bogo tried his best to keep his tone even and respectful, but he also wanted to make it clear that his terms were non-negotiable. "They have served this city with honor, and I am not going to just kick them to the curb based on something they haven't even done. I won't let this city abandon them at a time like this. If you want to stop me paying them, you will have to start cutting my budget, and I promise you that I will make sure payroll is the last thing funds are diverted away from. These are Zootopia's finest, and we are going to take care of them, just like they have been taking care of us."

Bellwether frowned. "And what if it never gets better?" she asked diminutively.

"Then I will keep them on leave until such time as they are able to collect their pensions," Bogo said firmly.

"You aren't going to give me a lot of options here, are you?" Bellwether gave a relenting smile that slightly unnerved the Chief.

"We can't just turn our backs on them," he said evenly.

"I'll play along for now, but we are going to revisit this in the future," Bellwether said slyly.

Against his better judgement, the Chief responded, "No. We won't."

He knew he was risking his job by being so insolent, but he owed it to all those under his command, prey and predator alike, to stand his ground on this.

It wasn't just for the predators either. Just sacking predators for no other reason than their species would have been just as damaging to the prey under his command. Regardless of how the city felt, his herd was kin to each other. Now, more than ever, it was important to remember that fact as it was their only chance to make it through this crisis intact.

He felt dirty for playing politics like this, but his officers were out on the streets quite literally giving their blood for this city, and he wasn't going to leave them behind, no matter the cost to his pride or his career.

…

Day 26

…

[pouncehart com/breaking-news/fox-kit-tazed-into-critical-condition]

:Fox Kit Tazed Into Critical Condition

 _By Wexley Rhodes_

A 9-year-old male red fox, Aaron Denning, is in critical but stable condition after being stunned with a Talon Defense _Fox Taser_ _TM_ for well over a minute by an aardvark claiming that the kit was "stalking" her.

The excessive exposure to a shock voltage meant to be used on adults sent young Aaron into a cardiac arrhythmia that sources at Zootopia General say he was lucky to survive.

The aardvark assailant was taken into custody by the ZPD and told officers there that, "I only did it for so long because I didn't want it [Aaron Denning] to wake up and go savage."

A source inside the ZPD reports that the battery inside the recovered _Fox Taser_ _TM_ was completely drained, suggesting that the assailant only stopped when the charge was depleted.

Sources at Zootopia General confirm that young Aaron has shown no symptoms of Instinctual Recidivism. Doctors expect him to make a full, if difficult, recovery.

This is just the latest in a series of incidents involving attacks on predators using 'defensive' weapons. Talon Defense, the largest supplier of 'defensive' weapons in the city, has refused to comment on whether licensing or training should be required to use its products. Talon Defense has also refused to comment on the rash of seemingly coordinated assaults against predators that have been carried out using their products.

…

Day 27

…

Cool evening breeze whistled through Nick's snout, and rippled through his deep red fur as he jogged the understory trails of the Rainforest District.

With the high amount of anxiety induced stress his heart had endured during the past month, it felt good to have something of his own choosing be the reason it pumped so fast now. It had been beating by choice more and more the last couple weeks as he'd been increasingly spending his free time running, rather than just sunning himself into oblivion. The reason for the reduced sun time was only partially because he was now spending a larger proportion of his waking hours in the nocturnal timeslot.

Since his high school days, running had only ever been in response to needing to clear his head. Recently, however, he'd had that need so often that it was practically becoming routine, and he now found himself running every evening, whether he required it or not.

At first, he'd needed his troubled mind to push his body though the pain, but now that he'd been doing it so regularly, he'd built up quite a bit of endurance. He didn't get nearly as sore anymore and he could go for much longer than he used to. He still hadn't quite matched the distance or speed from his 'rage run' a few weeks ago, but he also hadn't needed a Zuber to come rescue him since then either. Between the more fox-natural meat based diet he was on, and the semi-consistent workout regimen, he considered that soon he might actually be strong enough to surpass that record _without_ the need to be blinded by fury.

Every night he ran a different path. It wasn't that he was all that interested in exploring the city, it was that every night he inevitably came across something that he'd rather not see again.

Most nights it was a deluge of Fox Away graffiti. Some nights it was shouts from mammals offering their colorful, if unsolicited, opinions on foxes. A few of the nights he'd even been lucky enough to find both. But those occurrences had been relatively innocent compared to his discoveries during the past week.

Two nights ago he'd stumbled past what looked like a riot outside a convenience store. He didn't know for sure, as he'd turned around pretty quick after he'd inferred what it was, but he suspected that the small gathering of angry shouting predators was in response to being banned from the establishment in question. In what was probably a predictable twist of fate, signs attempting to limit predator entry tended to be the biggest attractors for angry hordes of them.

While Nick had no particular interest in participating in any type of civil disobedience, that hadn't stopped him from ignoring a 'No Preds' sign, and being forcibly ejected from the premises it guarded, twice now. It had been a mistake to ignore it both times, and reflecting on it now, he recognized that he'd been caught up in the moment and hadn't been thinking clearly. He'd been thinking like a predator first, not like a fox.

Discrimination against predators, at least on this scale, and in this era, was new, but discrimination against foxes was not. If he'd been thinking primarily like a fox, he probably wouldn't have been so bold, or at least been more prepared for his fate. While he wouldn't make the same mistake a third time, the rest of the predator species in the city didn't have his type of experience to fall back on. They'd never known what it was like to be on the bottom rung of society, and they were confused and angry about it. Whether they understood it or not though, all predators were as good as foxes now.

Much worse than the demonstrations he felt no need to be a part of, three of the last five nights he'd stumbled across the new triage centers scattered throughout the city. While the Zootopia National Guard had not been directly tasked to patrol the streets, _'yet'_ , Nick thought, the military branch had been converting almost any open space it could find into temporary medical clinics to handle the non-critical overflow from the very busy main hospitals.

It wasn't the possibility of seeing blood or something more gruesome that scared him. That type of stuff usually didn't bother him, unless it was his own, and at any rate, it was nearly a guarantee that those things wouldn't be found at one of these limited capacity outposts anyways. It was the fact that they had a reason for existence in the first place that distressed him. The savage crisis had put so many mammals in the central hospitals that they were now literally spilling out onto the streets.

There were several levels as to why it troubled him so much. On the surface, it was just logically terrible what was happening. He may have spent the bulk of his life screwing over every mammal he could lay his eyes on, but he'd never actually hurt anyone, or even considered it. While he was usually numb to the plights of others, he'd never been cruel or malicious in intent.

A little deeper down, his tightly controlled empathy was breaking that numbness and attempting to fill him with grief for the victims. He didn't just _know_ , or have to _guess_ , what they'd gone through, he could _feel_ it because he had gone through the exact same thing nearly a month ago. Just because he'd survived a savage attack with hardly a scratch on him, didn't make the experience any less terrifying. He never wanted to experience fear like that again, and knowing that others were in scores on a daily basis, distressed and pained something deep inside him.

Some days he felt it more than others, but each victim he read about dredged up _something_ he was still having a hard time putting words to. It wasn't even that he didn't have the words, they just seemed like a foreign language when he tried to use them.

 _I want to make a difference. I want to help._

He'd had the revelation nearly a week ago, and now that the feeling had form in words, they'd been bouncing around his head nearly as much as his 'fox and predator' mantra. Thinking about them logically, they made no sense at all. Not that he'd dared to utter them aloud, even in the privacy of his sanctuary, he felt that the words sounded _dumb_ , like something a kit would say. What was there that a single mammal could do to help? Especially when that mammal was a fox? Logical or not, no other words seemed to fit the desires he knew could never be fulfilled.

It was sometime last week when the first crisis related death had occurred. There had been a few more since and each one had dug at him a little deeper than the other reports. It mixed with his revelation about what he wanted in life and gave him the vague notion that he should be protecting the victims in some way, and that it was somehow his fault that they'd died.

He somewhat recognized the sensation as the same one that had driven him to abandon his only chance for escape on the night he'd learned what it meant to face down a savage. He had thought about what a dumb decision that had been so many times. He had been inches from ending up as one of those news stories, and maybe even as an obituary. It wasn't the type of thing he could make logical sense of when he merely thought about it, but when he read about others in peril, it seemed to not matter if it made sense or not. He'd never before, or since, been in a situation like that night at the sky-tram station, but in the heat of the moment, actually seeing someone in danger, and deciding to do something about it, had apparently made even more sense to him than protecting his own life had.

More troubling than just feeling like he had no purpose, was the nauseating realization that maybe he did have a purpose and that, not only was he not fulfilling it, he would _never_ be able to fulfill it. Worst of all, he still couldn't decide if the sense was genuine, or just the result of the shifty fox inside him lying again, and pretending that he was something more noble and _good_ than he had any right to imagine being.

He knew that the tangle of psychology he had to face each time he passed a clinic was not something he was likely to fix anytime soon, if at all, but he also knew it would be much easier to suppress it if he wasn't continuously bombarded with triggers that reminded him of it. He wasn't quite ready to give up the hobby of incessantly following the news, but by alternating his running route, he could at least avoid the clinics, and all the implications of their existence.

…

The city was so relentless with reminders of what was happening. Even if he'd managed to avoid the aforementioned attractions so far tonight, the eerily empty streets were a reminder of what was happening in their own right.

He slowed his jog to a walk, and with his paws on his sides he tried to regain some control over his excessive panting as he paced the empty sidewalks under the xenon glow of the streetlamps. He continued to focus on his breathing, and had just been about to turn around when his aimless gaze found her.

Recognition of who it was came immediately. The bright smile and perky ears were unmistakably Judy Hopps. It was just an image on a poster, but it might as well have been a kick to the chest.

… _you are so much more than that…you'd actually make a pretty good cop…it would be nice to have a partner…you liar…never tried to be anything more than a sly fox…something to do with biology…reverting to their primitive savage ways…_

It had only taken an instant for his mental bulkheads to slam shut, but that had been more than enough time for the cascade of memories to pull the wind out of him. His heart ached with a pain that he knew to be an echo of what he'd felt on the night he'd last seen her.

The poster seemed specially crafted to mock him specifically. It was like some sort of collage of all the things that had gone wrong at the press conference. The big letters _'Z.P.D.'_ , the words _'Integrity. Honesty. Bravery.'_ , and the image of the badge, all standing guard over the city in the background. It was all the things that the bunny at the center had offered him that fateful day. It was all the things that he hadn't even known he'd wanted. And the second he had desired them, it was all the things that the rabbit at the center had ripped away from him.

Like that first night, it would have been easier for him to just feel anger towards her now, but that still wasn't the emotion he was experiencing. He knew she hadn't done anything to him, he'd done it to himself. He was the shifty untrustworthy fox. She'd simply found him out, and acted accordingly.

It had been so painful to see how scared he'd made her. It had been probably the most honest reflection of who he really was that he'd ever seen, and what he saw had shaken him to his core. He'd seen his true self in her trembling violet eyes, and the feigned anger he'd shown her had just been a cover for how truly frightened he'd been to see it.

He'd lied to himself so much that he'd forgotten what the truth even was anymore and she was simply too genuine to hide anything. He couldn't be mad at her for showing him the truth: he was a shifty, untrustworthy, and dangerous fox; any hopes of having integrity, being honest, or exhibiting bravery were pure fantasy.

But he knew that now, and this echo of pain was just another reminder of what he'd been coming to terms with all month. It wasn't the debilitating and unyielding agony that he'd felt that first night, but it still wasn't a pleasant experience. He shook himself from the self-imposed depths of despair and returned his mind to the realm of reason and control.

It wasn't cold out, and his body temperature had every reason to be elevated, but he still felt chilled as he turned around to start the run back to his apartment. Like every other route he'd taken this week, he wouldn't be doing this one again. He ran a little faster and a little harder than he had on the way here; not quite running away from something, but also not quite running towards anything either.

…

Nick stood in front of his dresser and stared at the orange carrot-shaped recorder pen that had been sitting atop it for the past month. In that time, he'd both ignored it, and been careful not to disturb it. It was really starting to amaze him what an expert he was at deceiving himself and ignoring the things he didn't want to deal with. It was an irony that he was so good at reading others, but until recently had been nearly a mystery to himself. There had apparently been a reason for that, though, as he wasn't overly thrilled with most of what he was now discovering about who he really was.

It seemed that he was both a fox and something that foxes could never be. Someone shifty who wanted to have integrity, someone inherently untrustworthy that wanted to be honest, and someone self-centered who wanted to be selflessly brave.

This wasn't the first time he had to face a contradiction of identity like this. He may have been eight the last time it had happened, but his solution had been relatively simple. He'd carried the red Ranger Scout neckerchief around with him for almost twenty-five years and everyday it reminded him of something he had wanted and something he couldn't have.

At least it _used_ to. Before he had discussed the matter on the sky-tram ride, it had been years since he had last thought about the Ranger Scouts or associated the neckerchief with them. Carrying that article around had numbed him to it, and resolved the contradiction between the thing he wanted and the thing he couldn't have.

He reached out and grabbed the pen. Maybe it would be worse before it got better; he couldn't remember how it went last time, but eventually the object in his paw would simply become a pen, and any associated delusions would be numbed to the point that his current identity crisis could be resolved.

Maybe it wouldn't work; he still suspected that this time was different than the scouting incident, but carrying around this reminder was the only thing he hadn't tried yet, and at this point, he figured he might as well try everything.

A sly idea formed in his mind as he realized that this device could actually serve as a much better reminder than the neckerchief ever could.

He depressed the button in and heard the sound effects of a winding magnetic tape that wasn't actually there.

"I make two hundred bucks a _day_ , Fluff! Three-hundred sixty-five days a year, since I was _twelve,_ " his own voice shouted out of the speaker.

He gave a wry grin and shook his head at the memory and the fragmented thought that he might have fared better in prison during the past month, than he had as a _free_ fox on the outside.

He depressed the button again and this time held it down. Confidently, he spoke, "You can only be what you are. You are a fox. You are a predator. You always have been. You always will be. There is no point in trying to be anything else."

He could feel his heart rate was up a bit as he let go of the button. He took a deep breath and then pressed it again to hear the playback.

The nonexistent tape whirred again, and he again heard his own voice. "I make two hundred bucks a _day_ , Fluff!"

He frowned at the pen in his paw. He rolled it over and looked to see if there was another button somewhere that he had missed. He couldn't find an obvious one, and attempted to depress the 'stem' at the top. He was successful in extending and retracting the ballpoint tip at the bottom, but he didn't seem have any effect on the recorder function.

He was getting a bit frustrated with it and decided to try a double tap and hold on the only button he could. He spoke a bit awkwardly into the device, "Uh, test?"

Again he pushed the button, again he heard the winding of an imaginary analogue tape deck, and again it played back, "Two hundred bucks a _day_ , Fluff!"

He huffed at hearing his own words for a third time. "Seriously?" he asked rhetorically to his empty bedroom. He considered trying again with a different button combination, but the moment had passed. He shook his head at his typical foxy fortune and stuffed the pen into his pocket, next to the neckerchief.

Regardless of what was on the recording, he would remember what it meant to have it. He would remember that he could only be what he was. That he was a fox. That he was a predator. That he always had been. That he always would be. And most importantly, that there is no point in trying to be anything else.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

This story now has cover art! I made it myself and I hope you enjoy it!

Thank you all for your continued readership and thank you to all that have left feedback! I very much appreciate it.

To everyone howling about 'where is Judy?!' here ya go! Nick seeing the poster was on the very earliest outlines, so while I didn't have the specifics down, this chapter has been planned in some form from the start.

'Good Cops Like Them' as the title has a few references baked into it. Obviously the first scene with Bogo was just after he told Judy, "We need 'good cops, like you.'" My first fic I ever wrote was, "Good Cops Like You" and while that one was about Nick, it was still in reference to that scene in the movie. In the more local context of this chapter, it is referring to the 'them' of predators at the ZPD that Bogo isn't willing to just kick out.

It is also meant to refer to Nick as well as he struggles to deal with and make sense of the things deep inside him that will eventually flourish into him making a 'good cop'.

Pawlantis and Malmuria are a pun on Atlantis and Lemuria. Both are (supposedly) mythical lost island continents, just like Utopia is. They seemed fitting companion cities for our own Zootopia.

Thanks eng050599 for editing this again!

And thanks fatescanner for helping this time too! I appreciated your reviews, your comments and your insights.


	18. Carpe Omnia

Notes:

'Carpe Omnia' – Latin for 'seize it all', a more aggressive alternative to carpe diem, 'seize the day'

'Et Magis' – Latin for 'and more'

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

…

Day 28

…

[znn com/breaking-news/rss]

-First Familial Link Between Savages: Proof of Genetic Component?

-Pre-Orders for the _TAME Band_ _TM_ top 1 Million

-20,000 _TAME Bands_ _TM_ Shipped as Talon Defense is Scheduled to Bring New Production Plant Online Next Week

-How 'Fake News' is Scaring Predators From Purchasing _TAME Bands_ _TM_

…

[pouncehart com/headlines/rss]

-Banking System on the Brink: Time to Cash Out!

- _TAME Band_ _TM_ Black Market Uncovered

-What They Aren't Telling You About Cliffside Asylum

…

Day 29

…

[znn com/breaking-news/rss]

-Experts Warn Trading and Banking Holidays Are Coming

-Authenticity of Leaked _TAME Band_ _TM_ Source Code Questioned

-Cliffside Asylum: 90 Residents and Counting

-ZSEC Extends Talon Defense Stock Freeze

…

[pouncehart com/headlines/rss]

-Is Talon Defense Falsifying Number of _TAME Band_ _TM_ Pre-Orders?

-More 'Shocking' Discoveries Found Inside _TAME Band's_ _TM_ tOS Source Code

-Scandalous Hayworth College Cover-up Revealed!

…

Day 30

…

Kyle Hayworth paced slowly around the back corner of the event tent. While he appeared to be mentally reviewing the speech he was about to give, the appearance was a façade. He already knew it backwards and forwards; even the parts he knew he would never get to. Needing a review or not, the act of meandering around what qualified as the green room served to ease the nerves of both himself, and his security staff far more so than just standing still and staring at the canvas walls would have.

He'd taken a small dose of ketamine a few minutes ago and he was already starting to feel its effects. It wasn't anywhere near enough to cause him significant loss of mental faculty, but it was enough to keep his heart rate down, and his mind from complicating any of what was about to transpire.

There was no reason for him to outmaneuver or overanalyze anything tonight. His only obligation was to remain coherent enough to go through the pre-scripted motions of the role he was playing in this evening's theatrical performance.

He had just glanced at his watch and noted that he had eleven more minutes before he was to be on stage, when he heard his Bluefang earpiece chime softly in his ear.

"Accept call," he said quietly.

The chime stopped as the device responded to his voice command and the subtle change in pitch told him that the call had been connected.

"Hayworth," he said in a voice low enough as to not draw attention to himself, but loud enough as to not appear clandestine.

"Are you ready?" Bellwether asked, her voice quiet, but firm over the earpiece.

"Absolutely," he responded in discreet confidence.

"We still have time to call it off, if you want," she offered.

"Don't you dare," he said smugly.

"There are no guarantees, you know," she challenged.

"Oh, I can think of a few," he responded.

Bellwether gave a short giggle. "Good luck, Kyle," she said sincerely.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he responded frankly.

Bellwether let out another quick chuckle, then in a much more even tone, she said curtly, " _Carpe omnia_."

" _Et magis_ ," Kyle replied.

Then the line went dead.

…

"You think if foxes had started protesting a few months ago, anyone would have cared?" Nick asked sardonically as he lugged the cooler of pawpsicles into the center of the crowd of griping predator dissidents.

It was three weeks ago that the two had discovered that perhaps the protests were not the safest place to be peddling pawpsicles, and it was then that they had, _reluctantly_ , decided to return to their original sales territory on Paw Street, near the Lemming Brothers building. They hadn't been able to make quite as much profit, nor were they able to make it nearly as fast, but, minus a few problems sourcing the ingredients, the gig had been about as stable as they could have hoped for under the circumstances. That was until last week when their primary customers, the Lemming brothers themselves, had begun walking the other direction in an apparent effort to avoid the fox pair. Nick suspected however, that the snub was more due to their being a pair of un-banded predators, rather than just being a pair of foxes.

With the anemic distribution of crowds in the once bustling city, protests and rallies remained the only reliable source of customers in bulk. After a few days of tense, yet fruitful sales at the protests, Nick had found a schedule for several upcoming political rallies, and the business pair had decided to see if they might have more luck and safety at that type of event instead.

This evening's event was some type of speech from Council-mammal Hayworth on what fresh oppression he had in store for predators next, and the anticipation of what he was going to say had attracted several hundred supporters and dissenters to Five Meadows Park, a venue about as far south as one could get and still be in Savanna Central. It was the dissenting crowd of predators, and more than a few prey sympathizers, that Nick had lugged the pawpsicle cooler into.

"Probably wouldn't have even noticed," Finnick replied gruffly. "We never would have done it anyways."

Nick looked down at his partner with the unmistakable look of vulpine curiosity. He hadn't really expected an answer, much less a follow up point of information and he was intrigued to find out what more, if anything, Finnick had to say on the matter. "Why do you say that?" Nick queried.

"Well, we never did. Did we?" Finnick reasoned simply.

Nick thought about it. It had been millennia that foxes had endured such ill regard. Realistically, the last few centuries had seen some of the worst forms of vulpine oppression eliminated, and the qualms with society that Nick had at present were pretty trivial compared to some of the tribulations that his ancestors had faced.

 _Maybe that's their secret then: Give each generation just a little bit more so we always think we're gaining._

As Nick was selecting a spot to set up shop, he considered whether or not he'd perhaps just stumbled upon some sort of deeper truth of life. Pensively, he responded, "I suppose not."

Nick opened up the cooler and was watching Finnick secure their sign atop it when the fennec continued on. "What would we do with it, anyways?"

Nick hadn't really been expecting his passing cynical joke to turn into a full-blown conversation about fox sociology and was surprised that Finnick was continuing the discussion. "Do with what?" he asked.

"With our lives," Finnick responded.

Nick returned his look, bemused.

"If they didn't keep us down all the time, what would you do?" Finnick asked.

Nick tried to consider it, but didn't really have a surface level answer to give. He supposed that he could think of a few things if he was willing to dive a little deeper, but that wasn't something he was comfortable doing here in public.

Finnick hadn't given him much time to answer, but that wouldn't have changed Nick's null response. "What? Would we go get real jobs or something? Actually become part of society?" Finnick asked incredulously.

"Why not?" Nick asked, seemingly not having any issue with the proposal.

Finnick chuckled at him for a second and then said, "You're still pretty funny, kit. I almost believed you just then."

Nick raised an eyebrow over his smug gaze and stared skeptically at the fox that was only a mere decade his senior.

"We never whined like any of these fools because we always just dealt with it. That's what foxes do, deal with stuff. These other preds, they'll learn that soon enough," Finnick said in a manner that suggested that the demise of all predators was already a definitive fact.

While Finnick finished securing the sign, Nick attempted to parse the statement for truth but was interrupted by an outburst from Finnick.

"Hey! Watch where you're goin'!" Finnick barked at a serval that had just bumped into him. The cat was holding a white sign with orange, paw-painted letters that read 'Innocent Until Proven Predator?'.

"Sorry," the cat said sheepishly before slinking away to find another location.

Nick regarded Finnick wryly, and the smaller mammal looked up at him incredulously.

"What are you lookin' at?" Finnick growled.

Nick rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "This is why _I'm_ in charge of customer relations," he said sardonically.

…

"Mr. Hayworth?" queried a squirrel from the running boards setup along the walls. The elevated pathways achieved her a height only slightly more appropriate to the much larger horse she was addressing.

"Yes?" Hayworth responded a little absently.

"It's almost time," she replied.

Hayworth tried to shake himself back to the moment at hoof, but the surreality of the situation clung to his perception like a thick morning dew. He supposed it would have with or without the chemical aid he'd used. The only difference he could really imagine there having been, was how anxious he would have felt, and that had been the whole reason for taking something in the first place.

Deciding that he was in fact ready, he said, "Alright," and followed the squirrel towards the entrance of the tent.

As he walked, he passed several council staffers and more than a few of his fellow council-mammals. They were all here to support him in one way or another, and he smiled as he passed them by, even stopping to touch the wrists of a few of his more ardent allies.

"Are you ready?" asked an eager jackal from the Sahara Square district.

Kyle resented having his kind here, but the stench of a mangy canine was much easier to stomach in his placid state, and the orange banded collar around _its_ neck actually made the experience nearly enjoyable.

 _Who would have thought that it would be so easy to get them to walk right into a gilded cage?_

The thought made it easy to smile with a more genuine warmth. "Oh, I think so," Kyle said smoothly as he stopped to greet the predator. He smiled and touched its wrist without even showing a tremor of his repulsion. "How about yourself, Benton?"

"Eh, what am I doing?" Councilor Padmore said jovially with a laugh. "You're the one giving the big speech!"

Kyle returned his cheerfulness and put a hoof on the jackal's shoulder, using his size and posture to break down every mental defense this mammal had with the illusion of camaraderie. As sincerely as he spoke any of his political rhetoric, he said, "Honestly, Benton. What you are doing here is important. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your bravery in standing up there with me tonight."

Seeing the cur's eyes light up filled Kyle with the same thrill that he had been chasing and craving his entire political career. A few well-chosen and smoothly spoken words cost him nothing to produce, but were still more than enough to gain him the devotion and admiration of this fool.

"We have your back, Kyle," Benton said confidently.

Kyle couldn't see it, but he was pretty sure that if he could, this dumb mutt's tail would be wagging.

While his political focus was primarily on his fellow prey councilors, he never would have made it as far as he had without grooming a few of the predators along the way as well. Benton Padmore had been a supporter of his from the start, and over the years Kyle had made sure to toss a few bones his way to maintain the relationship.

Benton was smart and charismatic in his own right, at least as much as any canid could be, and he had a few of his own followers within the council as well. They followed Benton's lead, and he deferred to Kyle's. While the city was only ten percent predator, they still made up an unconscionable thirty percent of the council. Through Benton, Kyle held influence over five of the eighteen, and even commanded enough loyalty over three of them, including Benton, that they had been willing to don TAME Bands and stand behind Kyle during the policy speech he was about to make.

"I feel safer already," Kyle said with a couthy grin.

' _If this flea bag is so excited to be a traitor to his own kind, who am I to argue with him?_ _He's lucky he's so zealous too, or it would have been him tonight,'_ Kyle though deviously as he nodded to Councilor Orlando Fisher, a brown bear, and winked at Councilor Montie Twosocks, a dark grey wolf, with white paws. Each had a gentle green glow around their necks.

As Kyle turned away to continue his journey towards the stage he became consumed with how much he hated wolves. He couldn't remember when it had even started, but he knew it wasn't a hatred born out of fear. He just couldn't stand the creatures, pure as that.

Over the years, he had become much better at controlling his loathing urges, as compared to his university days, and while the feeling of a fracturing, snapping lupine skull against his hoof had been the most gratifying experience of his entire life, he knew that the end result of the undertaking he was currently engaged in would be even more so. _'And maybe I'll even get to feel those cracking skulls again someday,'_ he thought as a wry smile crept over his long face.

As he neared the edge of the tent, he could see the soft refraction of early evening sunlight over the horizon. He let that keep his focus as he stepped out into the aisle formed by the ZPD barricades that led to the stage. While he trotted towards the podium, he made sure to keep his smile disinterested and confident in order to give a good image for the riot of camera flashes to capture.

He made a show of his light jog up the stairs and then turned to give a poised wave and wide grin to the crowd. His greeting was met with shouts and cheers. He couldn't quite hear it specifically, but based on the signs he could make out, he imagined that the group of predators that had amassed near the east side of the venue were giving him boos and growls. That they were protesting him was hardly a concern when the mere fact that they were allowed to walk the street at all was a heinous crime against _The Purpose_.

He could see more than a few prey mammals in their midst as well. _'There is going to be a very special place for their kind when this is all over.'_ The thought just made him smile wider and he gave another hearty wave when he reached the podium, drawing out even more shouts and cheers from the main section.

The stage lights were bright, but not quite glaring as he looked out amongst his supporters. Even if they had been, enduring the limelight was what he was born for, and he would have thrived in their glow anyways. He could see that his speech had already been loaded into the teleprompter, but he wouldn't need it. He also had no concern that his voice and the sound system for the event would not be able to overcome the roar of the crowd, and so he relaxed and drew strength from their excitement.

He could feel the near two dozen mammals on the stage behind him; a mix of council colleagues and other various public officials that were here to support him. While he couldn't see them specifically, he knew that precisely at his eight o'clock stood those revolting predators, right where they were meant to be.

Knowing that everything was in place, he drew a deep breath, then let it out as a confident, bombastic shout.

…

"My fellow Zootopians!" Nick heard the shout come over the loudspeakers.

 _Listen to this guy. I bet he's never been a fellow to a fox in his life._

"Good evening, and welcome! I want to thank you all for coming out to show your support tonight!" the speakers roared.

 _I bet he's real thankful for this part of the crowd too._

Nick chuckled at the thoughts as he continued to pander. "PAWPSICLES!" he shouted.

While most of the protestors in his vicinity had their focus on trying to yell over the loudspeakers set up all around the park, there were still plenty that had already protested their lungs out enough that acquiring a refreshing pawpsicle ranked as a higher priority. Lucky for those mammals, today's blend was completely uncut, no water whatsoever.

He and Finnick had decided to go back to the regular blend early last week, not because of any noble ideals about providing honest products, but because they had just not seen any point in going through the effort of lugging around extra pawpsicles when there was a danger they would be either tipped over, or not sold at all.

Nick could still hear the horse that was making an ass of himself, but he decided to keep his attention on the continued yelling and selling of his icy treats. Listening to what the politician was saying would only aggravate him, and he decided that there wasn't much to be gained in doing so. It wasn't difficult to keep his thoughts on his job, though. His green eyes were wide with excitement at all the green paper passing through his paws; the five dollar premium he was charging today was paying out dividends nicely.

…

Kyle was in the zone as he pontificated. It wasn't just words he was speaking, it was ideals, and philosophies that he believed in deeply, even if his delivery to the masses employed a bit of doublespeak. He was a politician, after all.

His speech was calm, confident, and steady, as was the trademark of his public persona. He knew that his deep, booming voice cut past much of the conscious noise that cluttered a mammal's mind and was able to get straight to the part that governed trust. From there, their mind would work backwards to force validation of what was actually being said. It was both an elegant and simple method to employ for gaining someone's support, but not something easily accomplished by mammals not blessed with the _purity_ of his thoroughbred genetics.

He had just gotten through the part of his speech about his curfew proposals, and was now going through his list of points and reasons why this was something that predators should be begging for. While the entire speech was superbly crafted, even by his standards, he had worked very hard to keep this part up front. It was the idea that he most wanted to convey and he knew that if it wasn't near the beginning, it wasn't going to be anywhere at all. In fact, he knew this to be one of the last sections he was going to get to tonight.

He was impressed with himself at what a remarkable job he was doing at keeping his voice steady, and he was pretty confident that it wasn't just because of the sedative he'd taken. On the surface, and even quite a few levels down, he truly believed that this was just like any other rally he had spoken at, and that there was nothing special about tonight at all.

…

"Oh no, thank _you!_ " Nick said pleasantly with a sly grin as he accepted the five dollar bill. He shoved that money into a pocket bulging with other similar notes and stuck out his other paw to offer an icy treat to his customer.

As it was accepted, a chill far colder than the merchandise he was offering ran through Nick's spine and his tail bushed out in an instinctive response to something his subconscious had noticed, but his mind hadn't quite yet processed. His visibility past the medium and larger sized mammals in the crowd around him wasn't good, but his independently articulating ears were already hard at work scanning his surroundings for whatever it was that his body had already classified as a threat.

It was the sound that was the first thing he noticed; there was a subtle change in the background hum of the crowd around him, but he couldn't quite identify exactly in what way it was different. His eyes were doing their best to search around him and he noticed that several other mammals were starting to do the same. Nick's eyes found Finnick just a few feet from him and he noticed the fennec's far larger ears also surveying their environment when he realized what it was that was wrong: it was getting quieter.

From the moment he'd arrived at this event, his perception had been automatically dulled to the sounds of the shouting protestors densely packed around him, to say nothing of the blaring loudspeakers, but now that the din was what had his focus, he could tell that those sounds were all beginning to die down rapidly and had transformed into murmurs of confusion.

The adrenalin that had been slowly trickling into his system and elevating his vitals suddenly rushed in as a torrent and caused the sensation of pins and needles to run across his skin. The surge had been triggered by a scream and Nick's head jerked to his right in order to track it. He froze with a terror that matched that of the single shriek his ears had judged to be not all that distant from his present location. A second, a third, and then a chorus of agonized shouts of fear and pain shook him from his paralysis.

Nick had the sense that the events around him were unfolding faster than he was perceiving them. The adrenalin in his veins finally reached his neurons and forced them into overdrive as they tried to process the maelstrom of half-formed conscious thoughts and anachronistic instinctual impulses that were flooding through his mind.

Somewhere in between, his ability to read an individual mammal was being applied to the entire crowd. Their minds were all working through the same threat analysis his was, and he realized that when they finished, it wouldn't matter what the threat was, their reaction would be the same.

Skipping ahead to what he knew was inevitable, he shouted to Finnick, "We need to get out of here!"

Nick wasn't sure if that last pawpsicle sale had been less than a second ago, or if maybe more than an hour had passed. The only thing he was positive about was that the flow of the crowd was decisively changing into the mob he'd predicted.

"What's going on?" Finnick yelled back over the background noise that was no longer getting quieter, and was quickly filling with more and more screams.

Nick didn't have an answer, and was even a little frustrated that he was being questioned at a time like this when both their heads snapped to a media van only a few yards distant that had just creaked and groaned loudly. It was rocking hard on its suspension and it was easy to see why.

The predator was large even by lion standards and the savage gave a guttural roar from his four-pawed stance atop the van as fresh red blood dripped from his fangs and covered his mane.

For a flashing instant, Nick was soaked to the bone with a thousand foot drop to his back and a panther prowling towards him across the Rainforest District sky-tram platform.

"Run!" Nick yelled as their local region of the horde filled with screams, shouts, and a definitive direction of rapid movement.

As smaller scale mammals, the threat of being trampled was real enough that the risk was something all mammals in Nick's size classification took to heart. The ingrained understanding of the additional danger this situation posed was not for himself, though.

Nick had hardly noticed he'd done it, but his first step had been perpendicular to the direction of the crowd and towards Finnick. His second step was in accordance with the flow of those around him, and his third step found him next to his business partner. Nick's red fox stride was nearly double that of the fennec's but it was far shorter than even half of what some of the mammals around him were capable of, even if he was theoretically faster than most. His fourth step saw him overtake the smaller fox, but he swung his arm around, and his paw slapped hard on the back of Finnick's neck.

Whether there was protest or not, Nick didn't know, but he felt confident in his prediction of what would have happened if he had not currently been clutching a fennec's neck scruff tightly in his claws. _What could have been_ wasn't his concern as adrenalin narrowed his vision down to the size of the gaps in the mob ahead of him. His ears took care of mapping anything not directly in his line of sight, and around the time of his sixth stride, they caught what counted for sight of the savage feline pouncing on someone and driving them to the ground just to his right. His peripheral vision wasn't operational enough to perceive it, and he had no intention of turning his head to look at it, as his singular resolve navigated through the stampede.

…

Kyle knew what the trigger phrase was, but he also knew that its effects, while quick, would not be instantaneous. As it came and went, he felt his nerves rising a little faster than his chemical aid could keep them down. He didn't have to hold it together for much longer, though, as he noticed a slight perturbation in the crowd of protesters.

 _It's time._

He continued to read off his mental prompter, unfazed. "Safety for our fellow mammals is something that we should all strive for, no matter what spe-…"

He stopped the sentence short as a blood-curdling scream pierced through the base level noise of the crowd. There was another, then several more. Kyle's head swung towards the protesters, and so did many of his supporters. He could hear the clopping of security guards running across the stage platform to either side of him. He was pretty sure he knew what was going to happen next, but the sounds of vicious growling towards his rear told him that it had already occurred.

In his peripheral he could see a cervidae ZNG officer running towards him from his right and as he turned his head to his left, he could see two more incoming. The rearmost officer wasn't going to make it though, as a dark-furred wolf, presumably Councilor Twosocks, tackled him off the stage and into the crowd below.

 _Damnit!_

The wolf was supposed to have stayed up on the raised platform, for all to see his _episode_ , and what it was that would ultimately stop his rampage. Kyle supposed that this would just have to be good enough, though, and he trusted that the media would do their best to dissect and overplay whatever footage existed of the savage city official. Perhaps even a keen-eyed citizen with a cell phone might have caught the _taming_ process in action.

Barely a few seconds had passed since he'd stopped speaking, but the two guards that remained finally made it to him.

"Come with us, sir!" one of them shouted as an arm went around Kyle and pulled him towards the right side of the stage.

Both had drawn guns of the lethal variety. The one at Kyle's side swept the line of sight ahead of them while the one behind him speed-walked backwards and covered their flank. A third and a fourth guard soon joined and they were able to create a proper diamond formation around him as they made their way to a black SUV located behind the venue. The specifics were somewhat lost to him, though, as one of the guards had forced him into a hunched position, which made him a smaller target, but reduced his own visibility.

The trip had taken less than twenty seconds and Kyle was now inside the back of the black vehicle, not even strapped in, as tire rubber screeched and inertia forced him back into his seat.

…

Nick had been running for long enough that some of his mental resources had been released from processing what had been a nearly infinite amount of life or death decisions stuffed in the finite timeframe of the first few seconds of whatever it was that was happening to him now.

 _I'm in the middle of an attack._

As realization of what was transpiring began to coalesce, instinct and automation began to bleed away and he became much more consciously aware of the choices he was making while navigating the congestion and avoiding being trampled to death. With more awareness of his decisions came doubt, and as he realized that there was a fennec fox pressed to his body under his arm, he knew that his choices had consequences far outside his own personal safety.

There was no telling how long he'd been running, but the stampede, and the jostling near-misses that came with it, had not thinned out a bit. Nick's eyes found a gap and his ears judged that he had just enough space to thread it. He seized the opportunity via two quick steps to his left and he was through.

Regret for the decision was immediate as he saw a tiger falling through the air to pounce down on a hyena just a few feet in front of him. Nick barely managed to keep his feet under him as he switched direction to behind where the savage had come from.

The sounds of snapping bone, ripping flesh, and a horrific scream that was cut off all too abruptly reinvigorated Nick's adrenalin surge, and he exploited every advantage that the fresh dose offered.

…

"Sir! Are you okay, Mr. Hayworth?!" the elk guard that had been waiting for Kyle in the escape vehicle asked with a loud, militaristic cadence.

Kyle realized that he wasn't going to have to imitate being shocked at all. Simulated or not, the experience was indeed jarring. Attempting to retain his dignity he said shakily, "Yeah."

"Good, sir. I am Staff Sergeant Bellings, ZNG. You're being taken to bug-out alpha, which is at ZPD HQ. We will be there in approximately four minutes," the guard stated.

Kyle knew the ZPD headquarters building to be much further than four minutes from where the rally was being held, but between the roaring engine, the howling sirens, and the continuous acceleration pressure pushing him into his seat, he didn't doubt the validity of the Staff Sergeant's statement.

"What happened?" Kyle asked, mixing some confusion in with his authentic shock.

Bellings' expression quivered for a moment before he responded with the same articulation he'd been using earlier, "It appears that there was another savage incident, sir."

"More than one this time?" Kyle asked.

"It appears so, sir. I personally counted three, including one of your fellow councilors," Bellings responded. "We will know more once the ZPD finishes the containment protocol."

Kyle's eyes traced down the guard-mammal's body and found a jet-black ZI-51 automatic rifle being held tightly against equally jet-black body armor and a grayscale digital camouflage uniform. The difference between the containment protocol the ZPD used, and the one that the ZNG would eventually be authorized to _execute_ , was quite substantial. Kyle grinned ever so slightly as he nodded his head and said calmly, "Thank you."

…

"Put me down!" Finnick yelled.

Nick had heard him say that quite a few times over the last few blocks, but had chosen to ignore him in favor of continuing to run. He hadn't kept an exact count, but guessed them to be at least seven blocks from where they had started. The throng had begun to thin out about four blocks ago, but something from deep within himself had taken over and commanded that it had not been safe enough to stop yet. It was something that was far stronger than his own self-preservation instinct and he recognized it as the same sensation he'd had when he'd last faced down a savage. As it had then, it felt _right_ to act on it this time.

Another set in a long series of sirens passed them in the opposite direction and Nick's exhaustion finally gained enough velocity to catch up to him.

"Seriously! Put me down!" Finnick yelled again as he began to squirm more adamantly than he had before.

Nick slowed what had been an all-out sprint to more of a jog. Letting his foot off the accelerator, as it were, sent a message to his body that it had survived its _flight_ scenario, and it quickly began yielding back to the constraints of his normal physical limitations. As he relaxed his arm in an attempt to comply with Finnick's demand, he noticed just how tightly he'd been holding him. With his grip relenting, the fox in his grasp pushed hard against his side and fell to the sidewalk. Nick didn't make it much further as his jog became a walk that turned into a few staggered steps, quickly followed by an only semi-controlled collapse to his paws and knees.

His lungs were on fire and his throat was so dry that each ragged breath was like sandpaper scraping all the way down to his lungs. The burning feeling of lactic acid quickly permeating throughout his muscles made the decision to fall to his side an easy one, and from there it hadn't taken much deliberation to continue his roll and lay spread-eagled on his back.

He was pretty sure that he would never catch his breath again, and if he did, he was sure that having the use of his legs was gone forever. As he lay there, panting uncontrollably, with his long tongue fully flopped out of his muzzle, he could see the first few stars piercing through the twilight. If he was going to die of exhaustion or a myocardial rupture, he figured that this was about as pleasant of a vista as he could hope to _go_ to. The serenity was short-lived though, as a pair of oversized ears entered the picture, closely followed by Finnick's face.

"You alright there, hero?" Finnick asked with a mix of worried concern, friendly mockery, and genuine gratitude.

Nick's eyes were about all he could move, but he tracked them to Finnick. He would have laughed if his panting wasn't so fierce, but his eyes conveyed that he meant to do it if he could.

"Maybe we should have grabbed a pawp before we left," Finnick joked.

"Haws – her – hole," Nick managed to get out between gasps, but being unable to bring his lips together, or make use of his tongue hindered his ability to form the words properly. His eyes drifted back skyward and he continued the seemingly hopeless endeavor to get oxygen back into his bloodstream.

Finnick guessed that he meant to say that his 'paws were full' and laughed at the typically _Nick_ response a bit nervously. He was both embarrassed and thankful for what Nick had done for him and was having a hard time processing the contradiction, so he left Nick to recover while he mulled it over.

Within a few minutes, Nick finally began to catch his breath, but he still wasn't entirely convinced he'd ever be able to walk again. His throat was parched and he realized that his tongue had lolled out of his mouth far enough that he could actually taste concrete at the tip of it.

He wished that he'd been laying on his bed, and not on the sidewalk, because if he had, he would have passed out right then and there. Unfortunately he knew that that wasn't exactly an option and reluctantly he tried to pull his dirty tongue back into his mouth.

He licked his lips and the tip of his nose as he did so; it was an awful canid habit, but his nose was as dry as his throat was and he didn't care to be polite in how he fixed it. He removed his gaze from the increasingly starry sky and rolled his head over until his eyes found Finnick.

"You gonna' live?" the fennec asked sardonically.

Nick was still breathing deeply, but in a more controlled manner through his nose. He smiled at the question and replied jokily, "Unfortunately."

"Yeah, I didn't think I'd get your half that easily," Finnick responded with a gruff chuckle.

Nick chuckled too, but the action brought attention to the soreness in his chest and he winced. He didn't imagine that it was going to get any better any time soon, and he also knew that he couldn't stay here forever. Not that he hadn't spent his share of nights on the street over the course of his Zootopian residency.

Deciding that now was as terrible a time as any, he started making an effort to sit himself up. He used his paws to push himself into a sitting position and groaned unceremoniously as he did so.

Finnick watched, unsure of what he could do to help and just looked at Nick with an uncharacteristically worried expression.

"Seriously, kit, do I need to call an ambulance?" Finnick asked with a mixture of sincere concern, and his usual acerbic wit.

Nick looked up at him with a very characteristically smug, half lidded grin. "You tryin' to bankrupt me? I got the same insurance plan you do, pal." Nick tried to chuckle again but coughed a bit and put one of his paws to his chest.

Finnick continued staring at him, unconvinced.

"I'll be fine…" Nick said earnestly. "I think, anyways," he added with a subtle shake of his head.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Finnick said quietly as he drooped his ears and looked to his feet.

While in survival mode, Nick's mind had completely disregarded anything that hadn't directly concerned the directive of making it to the next instant. Over the last several minutes, the more civilized parts of his consciousness had returned to assert themselves once more and the timeframes not immediately present or near future became important once again. Finnick's statement marked the first prompt he'd had since _surviving_ to analyze his past.

He considered what it was that Finnick was talking about. At the time, it hadn't really even been a choice. What he'd done had felt right on an instinctual level and it may have even been harder for him to decide not to do it. What _it_ was, though, was something he couldn't bring himself to name with words.

"I didn't do anything, Fin," Nick said as he shook his head wearily. He meant it too. Continuing the review of the choices he'd made at the time, he knew he'd unhesitatingly make the same ones again. He couldn't have lived with the guilt if he hadn't.

"Nick…" Finnick said confused. "You… You saved me."

… _You saved me…_

The memory of something he'd lost and something he'd valued, lanced pain through his mind, bringing with it a deep emotional ache that far exceeded the agony being endured by his physical form. He adjusted his weight onto one of his paws and lifted the other to brush across the shape of a carrot pen in his pocket.

Nick was too exhausted to process his internal turmoil, or to figure out why it was that his paw had sought out tactile comfort. He tried to cover for his emotional state by sounding casual as he said, "That's what friends do, right?"

Finnick looked up from the sidewalk and said a bit uneasily, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

…

Kyle could see through the windshield that they were coming up on Fountain Square fast. He was glad that he'd buckled up a minute ago as it seemed that he was about to get much better than curbside service when the steps leading to the entrance of the ZPD were not regarded as impassive by his driver. The short instant of substantial jostling as the SUV scaled the steps gave Kyle the momentary desire for grasping appendages, but he made due with the blunt hooves that he actually possessed by bracing them against the door and center console.

The vehicle skidded to an abrupt halt, and before it had even finished rocking on its suspension, Staff Sergeant Bellings and his team were already forming a perimeter around Kyle's three yard journey to the door.

"Right this way, sir," Bellings commanded as he opened the door to the ZPD atrium.

The rotunda was well lit, if sparsely populated. There were a few ZPD officers stationed around the room, mostly sheep that he knew to be loyal to Bellwether, and at the center, near the front desk, was a small group of mammals in consult with each other.

"…can't be serious!" Kyle heard the clipped shout come from the Chief of Police.

"I am quite serious!" Bellwether yelled back. "Do you really believe this is something I want to do?! I don't have any other options here!"

Kyle and his escort approached the group that also contained two other ZPD officers, Rolland Conly, the rabbit that was Bellwether's Chief of Staff, and another ZNG officer that he didn't recognize.

As was typical for a horse, Kyle's clopping entrance did not go unnoticed, and it broke whatever argument had been in progress. Bellwether turned to look at him and her face lit up with excitement.

"Kyle! I'm so glad you're okay!" she exclaimed.

Bogo regarded him less warmly but any intentions to interact were interrupted by a commotion at one of the alternate entrances to the atrium. As a very noisy group of mammals carrying all manner of audio-video equipment entered the room, Kyle looked back at Bellwether and smiled lightly.

"It's my act now," she whispered low enough that only he could hear it.

" _Et magis?_ " he whispered back.

Bellwether winked at him then turned back to the group and resumed her discussion with the Chief.

…

Finnick hadn't exactly gotten a _good_ parking spot when they'd arrived at the event earlier this evening, but that seemed to have been a spot of luck as it was evident from even three blocks away that the main parking lot was under complete lockdown with emergency crews. They had been walking back to the van for almost a half hour now and in that time Nick had regained some of his bearings about how exactly the recent timeline of events had unfolded.

Nick judged that from the time of his last pawpsicle sale to the point where he'd collapsed on the sidewalk had been less than four minutes. He had checked the time on his phone and had done the math in his head multiple times now, and that was the number he kept coming back to. His memory didn't agree, however, and while he had confirmed the number for the fifth time just now, he could still swear that it had taken several hours to escape the park. In reality, the rally had only started just under one hour ago.

After peeling Nick up off the pavement, and coming to the conclusion that his legs, while very sore, were not permanently damaged, the vulpine duo had been walking in a silence punctuated only by passing sirens.

When they finally made it to the van, Nick climbed into it and flopped hard onto the seat. He couldn't hold back a sigh of relief as he reveled in the padded comfort that it provided. He was exhausted, and it felt good to sit on something cushioned.

He yawned and licked his lips in order to wet them again. He remembered a water bottle he'd left under the seat a few days ago and reached his paw down to find it. It was only half full and likely very stale, but he popped the cap anyways and drained it voraciously. After wiping his muzzle on his arm, he looked over at Finnick and said lazily, "I think I'm sleeping in tomorrow."

Finnick stared with staunch apprehension out the front window and didn't respond.

"What is it?" Nick asked, concerned.

"Nick," Finnick said slowly. "I don't think we should do this anymore."

Nick frowned slightly and looked down at his lap. He considered if maybe Finnick was more shook up than he was letting on. Whether he was or not, Nick would give him the same courtesy of not prodding at it, like Finnick had always given to him.

At any rate, there were plenty of other reasons why the suggestion was valid, and it was in fact an eventuality that Nick had seen coming from the start. The prediction that pawpsicle hustling was coming to an end had been the primary motivating factor behind practically every decision they'd made during the past month. It was a common enough business principle that when the costs started exceeding the returns, it was time to close up shop.

Whatever method Finnick was using to calculate their costs; whether losing most of their product again, or nearly losing something more, he wasn't wrong, and he would get no argument from Nick that it was indeed time. The correct decision or not, it still wasn't easy to admit it, and it was with great reluctance that Nick said quietly, "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

The moment hung there in silence for a few seconds before a distant subsonic rumble interjected and made its presence known. It grew louder until it entered the more audible range and began to shake the windows and mirrors of the van.

Nick's phone rang with a notification melody he didn't recognize and he dug it out of his cash filled pocket as Finnick began looking out the increasingly vibrating windows for what the source of the noise was.

[ZNN BREAKING ALERT: Mayor Bellwether Press Conference *LIVE*]

Nick clicked on the notification and was linked to what was apparently a live streaming ZNN broadcast. As the player buffered, Nick glanced at Finnick who was still scanning the evening surroundings of the street around them as the rumble continued to grow.

"...ounded so far." The half sentence blared out of Nick's phone and drew the attention of both foxes to the ZNN news anchor being featured on the screen. "Zootopia General is reporting as many as twenty in critical condition with five confirmed dead so far."

The bottom fell out of Nick's stomach as he stared at the screen split between the antelope news anchor and what looked like news chopper footage of the park that they had been in less than an hour ago. There were at least seven ambulances in shot, with uniformed mammals running blue stretchers back and forth across a field glowing with the ambiance of red and blue emergency flashers. The scene flipped to a ground shot of two bobcats holding each other as they sat on a curb with a jackrabbit EMT tended a bleeding wound on one of their heads.

"Details are still rolling in as to what happened to the savages, but ZPD sources say that at least four of the reported seven savages have been subdued." The reporter put a hoof to his ear and then said, "We are getting an update that one of the savages is believed to have been killed, but the details are unknown at this time. That leaves two more still at large on the southern side of Savanna Central."

"Again, if you are just joining us, we are waiting for a press conference with Mayor Bellwether to address what has undoubtedly been the worst savage attack to date. It took place at a political rally being held by city council-mammal and mayoral candidate Kyle Hayworth at Five Meadows Park in Savanna Central. We have unconfirmed reports that as many as sixty mammals were wounded during an attack involving seven savages. Zootopia General has admitted twenty-three now in critical condition, and we have just received an update that seven are now confirmed dead, including one of the savages."

The rumbling outside was reaching a crescendo and Nick tore his gaze from the phone to look out the front windshield. Powerful beams of light crested the hill first, but they were quickly followed by the headlights that were emitting them.

Nick's night vision had a hard time resolving what was behind the bright glare of the lights, but his ears were confident that this vehicle was the source of the rumble. As it continued towards them at a decent clip, he noticed that it was not just a single vehicle, but a caravan of them. As they rolled past, Nick could see that while the lead vehicle was a massive, olive-green Humvee, the trailing vehicles were something else entirely. Though less familiar, they were more tank-like in appearance, and each had the letters 'Z.N.G.' stenciled in white across the sides.

"If you are in the affected area, we urge you to stay indoors until the savages are contained. The ZPD is reporting that there are two savages still at large, one an otter and the other is believed to be a member of the canine family. They may still be stalking the southern part of Savanna Central. Citizens are reminded to not attempt to subdue the savage mammals on their own. If you see one, contact the ZPD immediately."

Nick put his paw to his face as the reality hit him that he had been right at the center of the images being shown on his phone. Even on his five inch screen he could see the dark stains in the grass under the bright searchlight of the news chopper. He used his digits to rub his eyes, maybe in an effort to wipe away some of the water that was forming there, maybe to hide that water from Finnick, or maybe just to hide what he was seeing from himself.

"We take you now live to the press conference being held at the ZPD headquarters by Mayor Bellwether," said the news anchor.

Nick forced himself to pull his paw away and look back at the screen. A podium he recognized, backed by a wall he also recognized filled the screen. It was the ZPD atrium, but he was too wrapped up in the moment to become consumed with the memories of why he found it familiar.

A white sheep, a mammal that he also recognized, popped her head over the podium and adjusted the microphone closer to her face.

"Good evening," she said with an even calmness. "Today our fellow citizens, our way of life, and our very freedom came under assault in a series of deadly attacks. Zootopia is strong, but the Savage Crisis cannot be allowed to continue unchecked. We must do what we can, when we can, to stop such horrific acts of violence."

"Following this attack, I have no choice but to implement our government's emergency response plan to fight this crisis. I regret to inform you that, as of this moment, the city of Zootopia is declaring a state of emergency."

"Effective immediately, a curfew has been implemented. All government buildings, including schools, are now closed for the duration. Using the emergency powers granted to me by the city charter, I am also enacting price freezes throughout the city. We are going to find a solution to this crisis, but there will not be chaos in the interim."

"This city is strong, and we need to stick together during this tragic time. I know that a lot of you are scared, but we cannot let fear divide us. I know that a lot of you are confused, but we cannot let ignorance blind us. We are going to make it through this."

"Thank you, Zootopia. Now I am going to let Chief Bogo discuss some of the specifics of how these new policies are goin…"

Nick clicked the lock key on his phone and put it back in his pocket. He'd had enough for the night, and just wanted it to be over. He looked over to Finnick, who seemed a little disturbed with the premature ending of the stream, and said with a calm seriousness, "We're going back to my apartment, and you're staying on my couch tonight." He shook his head slightly to preempt the argument he knew would be coming, "That's not optional."

After some consideration, Finnick nodded his head slowly, then looked to his steering column. As he reached out to turn the key, another set of armored ZNG vehicles rumbled over the hill and drove past them.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

From the second chapter I ever released, "Day 1", I, and Nick, knew that pawpsicle sales were coming to an end someday. This chapter has been on the outline since day one of writing this story, and I am so very happy that it has finally been released.

It's been a month since the press conference and Nick has learned a lot about himself in that time. He's learned what he is, what he isn't, and what he can never be, or at least what he believes he can never be. We got a taste of who Nick is in the movie when he stayed to help Judy on the sky tram. I think that single moment tells you all you need to know about Nick and it has been a key source of inspiration throughout this story.

It's something he would do again (as he had the opportunity in this chapter to do) and it's something he would do every time. He really is selfless when it counts and he can't stand seeing someone in actual danger. It's what makes him a good mammal now, and is what will make him a good cop in the future.

Yeah, I know that the streets weren't clogged with military martial law in the last part of the movie, just bear with me, will ya? Like I've said before, I will stay true to established canon, but I am charting my own course whenever possible.

It stands to reason that the version of NH serum that was used here was the same version they tested on Marcus.

If you caught the math, Kyle stated that the council was 30% predators and he held influence over 5 of the 18 predators. That works out to 60 total council members. Pushing out to movie canon, there are 12 unique ecosystems, or districts, leaving 5 representatives for each zone. It's a little bigger than you might think a city council ought to be, but as I have imagined the government structure, I see the city as being more sovereign than its real life analogues are, and thus the city council is a little larger and more powerful than you might have thought it was.

Councilor Twosocks is a reference to the movie 'Dances With Wolves' which is a really great classic that I highly recommend.

The headlines I list out during the news sections this time have a tangle of references to past and future story arcs, as well as to each other. One of the more interesting things about real life these days is the difference between the headlines of various news outlets when they are supposedly reporting on the same thing.

Also in the headlines is the term 'Banking Holiday'. For those not familiar with the term, and without me going into an explanation of Fractional Reserve Banking, it is sufficient to say that this is about what it sounds like: banks take the day off. It is only ever done as a very last resort when the economy is nearing a final collapse, and it is anything but a holiday for those with their money in the banking system, as they are unable to withdraw it. This is done to prevent the bank from running out of money and collapsing. You may have noticed in a previous chapter, 'Demanding Supply', Rigel was faced a withdrawal limit at his bank, even though it was his money. That is usually a precursor policy before a holiday is declared.

Special thanks to eng050599 and fatescanner for helping edit this! As always, I really appreciate it!


	19. Spin Cycle

…

Day 31

…

[znn com/news/zootopia-state-of-emergency-declared]

:Zootopia State of Emergency Declared

 _By Davis Treeseeder_

Mayor Dawn Bellwether declared a state of emergency in the city of Zootopia late last night. The declaration came shortly after a violent, multi-savage attack erupted during a political rally being held at Five Meadows Park in downtown Savannah Central. Over 120 mammals were either killed, or injured by what was an unprecedented 7 savage predators in the same location. At the time of this report, 1 of the savage predators has yet to be apprehended.

In a follow-up statement, the ZPD's Chief of Police, Chief Bogo, outlined the details of what exactly the declaration means for the city.

Throughout the duration of the emergency, the city of Zootopia will be under a curfew beginning at 11 p.m. and running through 5 a.m. ZST, every day. All non-emergency mammals are to remain indoors during these times. Those found in violation of this policy for any non-emergency reason may face zoo time of up to 30 days.

Prices of food, fuel, and other commodities have been frozen in an effort to prevent price gouging during the crisis.

The Zootopia National Guard, which has been providing emergency relief support to Zootopia's overstressed medical network, is now expanding its role by guarding all government buildings and medical centers in the city. The ZPD and the ZFD will continue to secure their own buildings and retain their jurisdiction over all other areas of Zootopia. Civilians are warned that illegal actions committed within the jurisdiction of the ZNG will be dealt with severely.

The ZPD has already increased their patrols by over 300% since the start of the crisis and is now committing to another 100% increase within the week as 1000s of police officers from surrounding cities and townships are transferred to Zootopia.

…

[znn com/news/attack-on-five-meadows-park]

:Attack on Five Meadows Park

 _By Davis Treeseeder_

Last evening's savage attack on a political rally being held at Five Meadows Park involved an unprecedented 7 savage predators in the same location, leaving 10 dead, and 32 in critical condition.

Another 82 mammals were treated for injuries sustained during the attack; many having been injured during the panicked stampede of the estimated 1200 attendees attempting to flee the savages.

The many ZPD officers that were already on site providing security for the event responded quickly to the incident by tranquilizing 4 of the savages shortly after they transitioned. A 5th savage was rendered unconscious by a Talon Defense _TAME Band_ _TM_ , but not before killing a ZNG soldier. Two more savages escaped containment and went on to stalk the surrounding area. One was found dead approximately 20 minutes after the attack began and is believed to have been killed by the other savage, who remained at large well into the night.

Councilor Hayworth had been speaking about his proposed solutions to the Savage Crisis when the attack began. He was quickly taken into protective custody by the ZNG and escorted to the ZPD HQ building. Councilor Hayworth says he is unfazed by the incident, and that he now has more reason than ever to continue his work.

…

[znn com/business/tame-band-validation-comes-at-a-heavy-price]

: _TAME Band_ _TM_ Validation Comes At A Heavy Price

 _By Rodney Silfur_

Talon Defense Incorporated received the grisly opportunity to validate their newest product, _TAME Band_ _TM_ , during the attack on Five Meadows Park last night, when Council-mammal Montie Twosocks, a wolf from the Highlands District, went savage and was incapacitated while wearing the device.

The savage councilor managed to pounce ZNG soldier, Corporal Trotski, off the stage before the _TAME Band_ _TM_ activated. The fall to the ground below broke the Corporal's neck on impact, killing him instantly.

Video footage suggests that Councilor Twosocks' _TAME Band_ _TM_ activated as he left the stage and that it had rendered him unconscious by the time he hit the ground.

In a Talon Defense press release earlier this morning, the company stated:

"We are so very sorry to hear about Corporal Trotski, and all the other victims of the Five Meadows Park attack, but this event is proof that TAME Band does work. It is a terrible tragedy that Councilor Twosocks killed someone, but without TAME Bands, many of the other savages went on to kill and maim dozens more. The TAME Band was able to mitigate Councilor Twosocks' violent rampage by more than a factor of ten. How many more would he have gone on to kill if he had not been wearing a TAME Band? How many fewer would have died if the other savages had been wearing their own TAME Bands?"

Councilor Hayworth had this to say in response:

"It's obvious that the device works, but it clearly isn't responsive enough. Talon Defense is responsible for Corporal Trotski's death, and Jayson Talon needs to be held responsible for his company's failures. He has failed to deliver on his promises for an effective and available product, and he needs to be held accountable."

Talon Defense's research and development team says that they are already hard at work analyzing the data gathered from the incident and will be releasing an update to tOS, the software that controls the _TAME Band_ _TM_ , very soon. This may be little consolation to the nearly 1 million predators still waiting on backordered _TAME Bands_ _TM_ due to production delays.

…

[znn com/science/is-savagery-contagious]

:Is Savagery Contagious?

 _By Tracy Cervich_

With so many predators reverting to a primitive savage state at the same time during the Five Meadows Park attack, some are wondering if the close proximity the savages had to each other is what triggered what experts are calling a _reversion cascade_.

"Savagery as a memetic contagion is something we should consider," admits Dr. Woolington, a professor of Predator Studies at Zootopia University.

He went on to say, "Predators were mostly solitary creatures prior to the Simul Consurgant. Species that relied on anything larger than a family group were the rarity, and in many ways that still shapes their psychology today. It is possible that having so many predators in close proximity is triggering the expression of some sort of primitive territorial instinct, and is resulting in these unchecked savage attacks. How we're also seeing this in traditionally pack species, such as in the case of Councilor Twosocks, is a bit of a puzzle, but it is possible that he became inspired to follow the lead of a savage whom he perceived as an alpha."

When asked about his thoughts, city councilor and mayoral candidate, Kyle Hayworth, agrees. "I think it is a possibility that needs to be considered and it is a risk that predators should take seriously. I have already directed my staff to draft a proposal limiting pack sizes in public spaces to minimize the chances of something like this happening again."

Racing ahead of any legislation, Animalia Arena has already canceled all scheduled events for the next 3 months, citing concerns that patron safety can no longer be guaranteed. The move is projected to have disastrous impacts for the area's many small businesses whose revenue relies on those events.

…

Day 32

…

[pouncehart com/breaking-news/predator-stabbed-to-death]

:Predator Stabbed to Death

 _By Wexley Rhodes_

26-year-old Mitchell Wesley, a stoat, was found dead in an alleyway near Fountain Square after having been brutally stabbed to death late last night.

According to ZPD sources, the only piece of evidence recovered was the weapon used to carry out this grisly murder. A knife with the letters 'T.A.M.E.' carved into its handle was left in the victim's chest. So far, no other leads have been found at this time, but the ZPD says that it remains committed to a full investigation of this tragic incident.

This comes as an escalation to the trend of violent acts being perpetrated against predators in recent weeks. While the ZPD still refuses to recognize this trend, or ascribe any motive to it, many are speculating that the message inscribed on the murder weapon makes the intention clear.

…

[pouncehart com/opinion/the-unelected-crisis]

:The Unelected Crisis

 _By Anton Pouncehart_

Just because ZNN has decided to drop the modifier _'Acting'_ when addressing **Acting** Mayor Bellwether, does not mean that she suddenly became an _elected_ official. She is no more the elected mayor of this city than I am! Yet somehow, this unelected mammal has been allowed to declare edicts with the force of law that break past every limit set by the city charter and the Magna Cognatione.

Bellwether is using the Recidivism Crisis to make you forget that we have laws in this city, and ZNN is all too happy to continue not reminding you. They are both content to watch as your liberties are stolen right out from under you, and then telling you that it is all to keep you safe.

These are the same mammals that are trying to convince you to lock shock collars around your own necks, for Makers' sake! All in the name of keeping you _safe_.

They are using the illusion of safety to make you forget how important having elected leaders is to our republic. They want you to believe that the cost of being safe is your very freedom to choose.

Our founders gave us the right to choose our leaders specifically because of times like these. It is in the darkest times that it is most important to have leaders who are trustworthy, loyal, and _elected_.

…

[znn com/politics/hayworth-seeking-common-ground]

:Hayworth Seeking Common Ground

 _By Davis Treeseeder_

"She wasn't elected, and even if she was, I don't think the city charter or even the Magna Cognatione gives her the powers to take the actions that she has," says council-mammal Kyle Hayworth when asked what he thinks about Mayor Bellwether declaring a state of emergency.

"I am committed to seeking common ground with her for the sake of the city, but she cannot continue to take unilateral action without consequences. Even during a crisis such as this, there are specific laws that govern how our civilized society operates. It is those laws that separate us from our savage past, and they must be followed, no matter what."

To show his commitment to maintaining the law of the land, Hayworth has begun working with the City Council to keep the government accountable.

"I am going to continue pushing forward my bill to enact a curfew as well as introducing a new one that institutes the price controls mentioned during the state of emergency address. I want history to reflect that these were lawful acts, decided on by elected officials. I hope that this show of good faith will encourage her [Mayor Bellwether] to work with the legislature in the future, instead of feeling forced to set dangerous and dictatorial precedents."

…

Day 34

…

As Nick entered the hallway, he carefully held the knob on his door to ensure that it latched quietly when it closed. The effort was an attempt to be courteous to the fennec guest that had been inhabiting his living room for the last four nights.

While ' _nights'_ wasn't exactly the correct terminology, it was the best description that the diurnal-centric language he used had to offer. It was properly late in the afternoon for the rest of the city, but it was still rather early in the morning, so far as Nick's circadian rhythm was concerned, and it was just easier to think of the sleep portion of his nocturnal cycle as _night_ , regardless of what time it really was.

With sneaking being one of the stereotypical foxy specialties he had mastered long ago, it was no surprise to Nick that he had completed his escape without a single errant decibel reaching the pair of satellite dish ears still sleeping on his couch. Now fully retired from hustling, or at least on an indefinite sabbatical, there was nothing specific to occupy either of their time, leaving each to endure every unencumbered and meaningless second of their day as it ground past. It was merciful to let Finnick keep sleeping.

It was what he would be doing too if it wasn't for an item on his agenda that required his participation in at least a few of Zootopia's regularly scheduled daylight hours. An event as seemingly mundane as a fur trimming appointment had been easily forgotten during the _excitement_ of the past month, and had only been remembered when his phone had buzzed yesterday to remind him of it. This appointment had been scheduled months ago, when he'd had his last trim, and he knew that if he canceled it, it could be months more before he could get another one.

At least not one with Fredrique Tonsor. The black bear was one of the premier fur-stylists in all of Zootopia and boasted a client list that included such notable figures as Derick Cheeter, Elon Dusk, and even Juanito Liquam, one of Gazelle's tiger backup dancers, though Nick couldn't be sure which one. An even better hustler than Nick was, each of Fredrique's grooming sessions ran more than Nick made in a month. But, as with most of the listed prices he faced in life, that wasn't the price he paid.

Nick had met Fredrique back in the early days of high school. The bear was still calling himself Fredrick back then, and had been fledgling in his ambitions to follow his dream of becoming a world-renowned fur-dresser. The aspiring hustler within that younger Nick had identified the situation as an opportunity, and he'd made the arrangement whereby Fredrick got someone to practice on, and Nick got free fur-trims. It hadn't taken much of an effort to maintain the relationship, and even as Fredrick became Fredrique, and his clientele list grew more expensive, Nick hadn't paid for a trim in over seventeen years.

It was true that Nick knew quite a few interesting mammals, but hardly any…well, _none_ , to be more precise, were relationships born out of a desire for friendship. They all started and ended with something that benefitted Nick; all of his relationships were hustles. He gave them a small lie backed by a falsely warm smile, and they gave him something of value, whether it was information or something more tangible. He'd lived his entire life preying on the generosity of others.

 _I'm not a predator, I'm a parasite._

He tried to cut off that line of thinking. Getting groomed was supposed to be a happy occasion, and those were in very short supply these days. It was sufficient to say that while Nick's trimmings would always be free, Fredrique had become much busier over the years, and his pro-bono grooming sessions needed to be scheduled well in advance.

It was rare that Nick was in a hurry to go anywhere, and he tended to be content with walking most places. However, the salon was all the way across the city, on the far side of Sahara Square. So for today, he was opting to take the metro, rather than paying through the snout for a Zuber, or risking not having enough time to make it back home before curfew.

As he walked the few sparsely populated blocks to the station, it was evident that most of Zootopia wasn't even waiting until evening curfew to get off the streets. For the last month, he'd felt rather in tune with the rate at which the sidewalks were emptying of mammals, as the drop had directly correlated to his pawpsicle sales, or lack thereof, but it had been more than three whole days since he'd actually left his apartment, and it definitely seemed that the decline had accelerated while he'd been away.

In that time, he'd barely stayed up to date with current events. The day after the attack at Five Meadows Park, and the harrowing escape that had ensued, Nick had checked and read up on all he could about the incident, but doing so had only made him feel worse than he already had. There hadn't been a single shred of good news that had come from that night, and even as he was reading it, he had been interrupted several times with notifications of more savage attacks. It got to him more than he could manage to suppress, and in fit of clarity, he had deleted the ZNN app from his phone and removed Pouncehart from his bookmarked webpages.

He'd spent the last two days oblivious to current events, but he supposed that nothing of true importance had occurred. At least nothing that he couldn't guess at. There had probably been more attacks, more deaths, more failing market reports, and more fear and ostracizing of predators. It would be the same story today, the same story tomorrow, and the same story the day after; he didn't need some reporter to tell him that.

No longer drowning himself in savage stories, he had been relatively quick to get over, or at least suppress (he was still having a hard time telling the difference), how he felt about what had happened to him and Finnick. Even so, there really hadn't been much reason for him to leave his apartment since that night.

Finnick hadn't left either, and Nick hadn't asked him to. He suspected that the fennec was still more shook up from the incident than he was letting on, but he knew no benefit would come from pressing his friend, really the only one he had, to open up about it, so he respectfully ignored the matter.

For whatever reason they stayed shut in, it would have been difficult for them to leave, anyways. The curfew presented many _challenges_ for those keeping a nocturnal schedule, and Nick hadn't quite figured out a way around them yet.

As a fox, instinct forced him into a state of _discomfort_ if there wasn't food stored away for a rainy day, and he actually had enough to remain locked in for a few weeks, if needed. He would have to figure something out eventually, but for now, dried fruits and frozen fish would be plenty to keep a set of foxes satisfied for at least several more days.

Finnick actually had ventured outside once, but that had been on a quest to get some cases of _Azule_. The blueberry flavored cider had made the time pass a little smoother and had increased their intrigue in the show they'd been watching.

On a channel that was supposedly meant for broadcasting educational content, the marathon run of _Ancient Hominids_ had been going strong for the last forty-eight hours. The premise of the series purported the existence of a yet unrecognized species of supernatural mammal that was furless, frighteningly hideous, and had either escaped the Simul Consurgent and retained its savagery for tens of thousands of years, or had traveled here from the stars, around that same time, to interbreed with, and experiment on mammals of every type, with the intention of taking over the world.

Whichever theory was true, after drunkenly binge watching three seasons of it, Nick and Finnick had become reasonably convinced that not only were there packs of savage hominids running around in the remote highland forests, but that they had underground cities hidden in the ice caps, and that they had helped the Mafdetians build the Great Pyramids. Once one accepted that, it was relatively easy to conclude they'd had a paw in every major historical event since the _First Treaty_ , and it seemed reasonably plausible that the Zootopian government had been keeping several in captivity for the last century, in order to better understand how to use and replicate their advanced technology.

Though, after a night of sleeping off the alcohol, and the fresh air he'd been strolling through for the past few minutes, he supposed that the evidence he'd been presented with was not quite as irrefutable as he'd first believed it to be. Whether it was true or not, it had been a relaxing change of pace to stop thinking about what was happening to the city, or about the dark places his mind went to when it was left undistracted.

…

The metro today was not even close to half as crowded as it normally was, but it seemed that not even the Savage Crisis could stop lines from forming. Though, as was usual, the queue moved along at an even, and relatively decent rate.

As Nick approached the gate, he withdrew his smartphone and slid it across the reader plate embedded in the railing. The exchange of data triggered an automatic debit to his metro account and the gate ahead of him to unlock at the precise moment he reached it. So long as no one forgot to have their payment method in paw, the procession was relatively quick, painless, and nearly non-stop.

It was inevitable that some tourist always managed to forget, though, and it was usually during those times of disruption and frustration that a younger and much smaller Nick had been able to sneak his way past the turnstiles and ride for free to wherever his heart desired. He hadn't done that in years though, as time had made the price of a ticket less of a hindrance at about the same rate that the risk of irritating the increasing security measures had become more so. Especially with the current _situation_ , there was no reason to give the ZPD any extra reasons to harass a fox.

Those early years of exploration meant that, as he rode down the escalator to the main platform, he didn't need to reference the Zootopia Transit Authority subway network map affixed to the angled ceiling. He already knew he'd be taking the yellow line, and he wouldn't need the diagram to know which stop he was getting off at, either.

It was a common trope to complain about how complicated the metro system was, but Nick had never understood why. Even at a young age, the complexities of the network had never been any great mystery to him, and had never provided him with any insurmountable challenges.

As the main concourse came into view, he did check the large analogue clock attached to the central pillar to make sure that his estimate of the time was correct. It was a little after four o'clock in the afternoon, and it was around this time that many of Zootopia's _normal_ adult population started getting off work.

This station was at the interchange for the yellow and blue lines, and as such, it was one of the busiest stations in the Rainforest District, especially at this time of day. But when he reached the bottom of the escalator, and could see the entire platform, he was greeted with more open space and fewer mammals than what was comfortably appropriate for a city of thirty million during rush hour.

What did catch his eye, though, was the very high number of ZPD officers standing sentry around the platform. Something in the back of his mind screamed, but it was buried so deeply that he didn't even consciously perceive it.

 _Please don't let her be here!_

Something else caught his eye, too. The platform was always a disorganized chaos of mammals running to catch their next train, and while the rodent population was fortunate enough to have their very own tunnel system embedded into the concrete as a safety measure, it was usually every mammal for himself down here. Which is why he was surprised to see a mass of ZPD barricades sectioning off various parts of the platform in an apparent attempt to bring some sort of order to it.

He had timed it out so that he would be neither late, nor excessively early. If the digital signs scrolling the scheduled arrivals could be believed, and Nick doubted that they could be, his train was still on time, and was about five minutes out.

As he started making his way towards the east bound track to await its arrival, he tried to make sense of what purpose the barricades could have. A tingle started moving into the foreground of his mind as instinct had perceived their existence negatively, though, it wasn't uncommon for his instincts to project cynicism into anything that was new.

"Over there, fox," said a sheep ZPD officer that was standing near the central pillar. The officer was pointing at the cordoned off area.

Slightly startled, though he didn't show it, Nick looked around himself. There were no other foxes, or even other mammals, anywhere near him. He slowed his walking speed so as to show a small amount of compliance, then, with a bit of actual confusion in his voice, he said, "Me?" as he put a paw to his chest.

"Yeah, you. Over there," the sheep officer said again, this time with a much sterner tone.

Nick halted his advance. He wasn't exactly sure what was happening here, and it was with a bit of sardonic edge in his voice that he responded rhythmically, "No. My train is over there. Thanks for the help, though."

"Not that part, fox!" The sheep almost yelled the words.

Nick was no longer able to hide the confusion on his face. Other than being a fox, he couldn't figure out what exactly he was doing wrong here. He considered just ignoring the officer and continuing past, but he was hesitant to do so as he thought about all the hostility being directed towards predators lately. In addition to looking perplexed, his ears went back slightly to betray the rising apprehension he felt at being surrounded by so many law enforcers. He just wanted a damned fur cut, not whatever all _this_ was.

He furrowed his brow and spoke slowly, "What do you mean, ' _that part'_?"

"You're in the pred car," the sheep said haughtily and with a slight grin.

"Excuse me?" Nick said incredulously as he tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and crossed his arms.

He took a quick glance back at the barricaded section and realized what it was that felt off about it: All the mammals confined within were glum-looking predators. When he turned his head back to look at the main concourse, he realized that there were no other predators anywhere else in the station, and that all of the prey that were there, were now staring at him.

Quick enough that Nick couldn't mask his eyes going wide with panicked surprise, a tranquilizer gun had been drawn and trained on his chest.

"GET IN YOUR PLACE, FOX!" the ZPD officer shouted at him.

Nick's heart rate spiked and he was genuinely at a loss for how to proceed. This had escalated far quicker than he'd ever imagined and he feared that even the slightest movement at all might trigger this wound-up sheep to discharge.

He wished he hadn't crossed his arms a second ago. Having a standoffish posture was no longer the right strategy, but now any movement he made to uncross them would be perceived as threatening. His mind ran through a thousand scenarios of how he might remedy this predicament, but each one ended with him out cold and waking up a few hours from now in a holding cell with his paws cuffed behind his back and a… _a muzzle_ strapped to his face.

He desperately wished that his mind had not gone there. He could feel his anxiety rising rapidly and he had the fleeting notion that a couple CCs of whatever was in those tranquilizer darts might be a blessing right about now.

"Take it easy, Baxter," said a deep and calm voice coming from behind Nick.

"This isn't your post, Delgato," snapped the sheep insolently. His eyes and aim never left Nick as he responded.

The entry of an additional mammal to the standoff tossed Nick off balance, but that was welcome as it gave him something else to focus on other than his fear of waking up with a steel cage locked to his face. While that still left him too frightened to move, he didn't need to see the approaching mammal to smell that it was a tiger.

"Stand down, Baxter," the tiger commanded in a still calm, but much firmer tone as he walked swiftly past Nick.

To more relief than Nick could measure, the tiger continued his path to a point between Nick and the sheep, breaking the invisible line through space that connected Nick's chest to the tip of the smart needle chambered in the officer's gun.

"I don't take orders from you." The sheep spat out the words.

Delgato chuckled a bit. "You going to tranq me, Bax?" he asked with sardonic skepticism.

Nick could no longer see the sheep, but he guessed that the tranq gun had not been holstered and was now pointed at the interposing tiger, who seemed to Nick to also be an officer, but one that was out of uniform.

"You're off-duty. Get back there with the rest of _them_ , or I'll do what I have to," Baxter snarled.

Delgato considered for a second, and then said reproachfully, "No one ever train you to check your DRS, Bax? You don't use yellows on someone as small as a fox, _but_ you will need a couple of reds if you're planning on taking me down."

"Is that a threat?" the sheep asked irascibly.

"No. It's a reminder that if you're going to pull your tranq on someone, you need to check your dosage regulator switch," Delgato said with smooth condescension.

Nick considered briefly that maybe he would have been out a little colder than he'd originally thought if this sheep had fired on him. While he normally didn't like accepting, much less needing, help from anyone, it seemed that his other options just now had apparently been either dying of a tranquilizer overdose, or the much worse fate of waking up _muzzled_. Under the circumstances, he would take what he could get, and worry about if others could see anything _getting to him_ later.

Nick's sensitive ears barely heard the quiet click, but he guessed that it was the sheep moving the switch on his tranq-gun to an even higher setting.

"Thanks for the tip," the sheep said mockingly. Then in a much more serious tone, and with a sharply articulated cadence, he commanded, "Now I said get back there! There are no predators allowed in this part of the station, and I am authorized to keep it that way!"

Delgato shook his head, and began turning around as he said, "That's not how we do things in Zootopia, Baxter."

He took a step towards Nick and then took a knee to better get to the fox's level.

"Well, we follow orders where I'm from!" the sheep bleated at Delgato's back.

Nick began quickly regaining control of his nerves, but he was sure that the after-effects of the threat of being muzzled would stick with him for the rest of the day.

He swallowed hard and was still breathing a little heavily as he looked up with eyes unable to hide the remnants of his fright at his liberator kneeling in front of him. Presumably, the sheep officer was still pointing a maximum dosage tranq-gun at Delgato's back.

"C'mon, fox. Let's not make any more of a scene than we have to. Yeah?" Delgato asked coolly.

Nick's eyes moved in an attempt to find either the sheep or the tranq-gun, but they were unable to make it past the tiger's broad shoulders.

"Don't worry about 'Bah Bax' over there; he's an ass," Delgato said with a smile and in a much more friendly tone than what he'd used on the sheep.

Nick's eyes moved back to Delgato.

"C'mon, I'll explain it to you over there." Delgato pointed to the barricaded section that contained only predators. The tiger then stood and placed a massive but gentle paw on the fox's shoulder. He didn't push, and he didn't try to force Nick to move. The _friendly_ gesture of support, coming from so odd a place, genuinely surprised the fox.

Nick turned his head and stared at the cordoned-off area. His instincts buzzed a little louder that he shouldn't go over there, and that there was something dangerous about being penned in like that. He should have just headed back the way he'd come, and abandoned the idea of riding the metro at all, but the recent prospect of being muzzled left him unable to form any coherent conclusions beyond the recognition that he needed to leave his immediate location.

It was rare that he found kindness from a stranger, and even rarer that he offered it, but it was likely that this tiger had just saved him from what could have been a very dark day. Not wanting to return to facing that prospect alone, he couldn't see any other choice but to trust him.

Looking up at the tiger, Nick nodded his head and said a bit uneasily, "Yeah, okay."

Nick turned to start walking towards the barricaded section. As he did so, the tiger released his shoulder, and he could feel the giant predator walking guard behind him. An older part of his mind suggested that perhaps he was being stalked, but the newer, more conscious part of it knew that the cat was still shielding him from any stray tranquilizer darts, and that he was being _protected_ by the larger predator.

Even with every predator in the station being corralled into this one section, there was still plenty of space available. The emptiness spoke to just how few mammals were braving the metro these days, and Nick realized that he had underestimated just how much things were changing. He'd lost, or at least forgotten, perspective during his hiatus, and he should never have set paw outside his door before he had found it again.

After locating a bench to sit down on, Nick said cautiously, "Thanks for, uh, bailing me out."

He still wasn't entirely sure what this cat's motivation had been in rescuing a wayward fox. As time and distance further separated him from his instant of crisis, his defensive and cynical outlook on life began reasserting itself, and he felt a slight skepticism that the rescue had been purely born out of good intentions.

"It was nothing," the tiger said with cheery sincerity. He followed up by asking with light incredulity, "So, you been out of the loop there, fox?"

Being addressed as 'fox' was one of the many things that Nick was still having trouble putting back into the box of things that did not _get to him_. The event was monotonous enough that it usually happened several times per day, and sometimes, even several times per conversation. It wasn't the fact that they were calling him a 'fox' that bothered him, it was what they meant by it when they said it that did.

The connotation associated with that particular noun was so negative in most mammals' minds that, like the sheep officer that had just confronted him, most couldn't help but have a disgusted tenor when they used it. Every time he heard it, he heard all the worst things that mammals thought about him and his kind. It used to strengthen his resolve to embrace being what he was, and his belief that it was pointless to try being anything else. He wished it still did that, but now it's only effect was to remind him of how trapped in his life he was.

Not every mammal intrinsically hated foxes, though. He had met plenty that were perfectly indifferent to what he was, or at least put on a good show of pretending they were. Some of them used the word too, and like the way this tiger had just said it, they had no bile backing what they meant by it. It was just a colloquial phrase, and this tiger probably hadn't even realized he had said it, much less meant anything degrading by it. Nick conceded to letting it go, and didn't give it another thought.

"Yeah, a little, I guess," he admitted. Getting calmer by the second, his vulpine curiosity pushed its way back into the foreground, and he suddenly had the desire to get caught back up on what he had missed. "What's going on here?"

The tiger gave a weary smile and spoke sincerely, "Sorry to be the one to tell you this, fox, but the metro is segregated now."

Nick heard the words just fine, and it didn't make sense to pretend that he didn't comprehend, but he had to be sure that he was understanding it properly.

"You mean like, _by species_?" Nick said with a tone and look of disbelief.

"There was an attack on one of the trains yesterday morning," Delgato responded mournfully. "It was…" He didn't finish the sentence and gave a dead stare at the ground.

Even without his expertise in reading other mammals, Nick would have easily been able to see the genuine anguish that was caused by thinking about the attacks.

After a short pause, Delgato shook himself a bit and continued on. "Anyways, the Mayor's office sent out an order that the metro was to be segregated by pred and prey. This is the first day that it's in effect, so it's not surprising that you didn't hear about it yet. The Mayor's offices didn't give a lot of direction other than just saying 'It's segregated now!', and it's been a real mess for us to figure out."

Nick was listening intently and picked up on a point that seemed to have been glossed over. " _'Us'_ , as in, the ZPD?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," the tiger said with some animated embarrassment. "I guess I never really introduced myself." The cat stuck out his paw and said, "Officer Lukas Delgato, ZPD."

Nick accepted and stuck out his own paw, "Nick Wilde, _fox_."

Delgato chuckled a bit and smiled as he said, "Yeah, I can see that." In a little more of a serious tone he said, "Sorry for Ol' Bax back there. That was… _excessive and_ _uncalled for_."

Nick could tell that he was being authentic, and tried to play off the bit of awkward tension that was forming by saying in a light and uncaring tone, "It's fine. I'm pretty used to it."

Delgato shook his head with remorse and embarrassment again, and said, "Well, you shouldn't have to be. He's supposed to be helping, not…whatever that was."

This cat seemed nice enough, and Nick decided that continuing the small talk wouldn't hurt. "So, you work with him?" he asked.

"Only recently," Delgato replied. "He's one of the transfers from Malmuria. I'm starting to think that there is a pattern in which officers their precincts were willing to give up, because all the transfers we get from there are a little… _hotheaded_."

"Not just because of the wool?" Nick ventured the joke with a sly grin.

The cat purred a laugh in response. "Yeah, that too." He composed himself and continued on. "I dunno what it is about them, but it's like they all came here on some sort of vendetta. They were supposed to be helping us, but things have been… _tense_ since the city decided to start canning preds and replacing us with these yahoos."

Nick was a little taken aback by the last part and he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying they are firing pred officers?" he asked in shocked disbelief.

"They're trying to," Delgato said apprehensively. "There are too many of us to replace all at once, but...they have already started suspending quite a few."

"Are…you?" Nick asked cautiously.

Delgato shook his head. "Nah. Not yet, anyways. I'm sure it's coming, though. My little brother is in Precinct One, and they put him on," Delgato air quoted with his paws, " _'indefinite administrative leave'_ last week _._ Whatever that means. The little bastard still gets a paycheck, though. Gettin' paid to sit on his tail all day? Some mammals would think it's their dream come true." He gave a slight comical shake of his head. "Me, though? Not that lucky, I guess. But nah, I became a cop to help mammals, not just sit back quietly while all _this_ happens." He shook his head before continuing. "Regardless, I'm supposed to be stationed in RFD, but somehow I've been transferred to Sahara Square, and I got the nocturnal shift to boot. That's where I'm headed now, actually."

"And they're making you ride in the 'pred car' to get there?" Nick asked with a wry look of disgust on his face.

"Yeah, but… Well…" Delgato took a deep breath. "It's for the best. I wouldn't want to put any more mammals in danger than I have to. I took an oath to protect and serve, no matter what that means I have to do."

The words sent a chill down Nick's back, and he tried not to think about why. He didn't respond and the two sat in silence until the train finally arrived.

…

The salon was on a mid-floor in one of the many high-rises in Sahara Square. As Nick walked around it to find the front entrance, he tried not to look at the gloomy copy of himself reflected in the silvery glass windows. He was seriously contemplating just going back home and finishing off what alcohol was left, but he had come too far to give up now.

He wasn't entirely convinced that the pleasant experience of being groomed would be able to quell the sour mood he was in. It had been pretty jarring to be held at tranq-point and face the prospect of being muzzled, and now that he was nearing his destination, he really just wanted to find a way back home.

He turned the corner and stopped in surprise when he saw a congregation near the entrance he'd intended to use. Surprise turned to dismay as he recognized what type of gathering it was. The crowd of about two dozen was entirely made up of unhappy looking predators and they were opposed by a quintet of rhinos standing vigilant at the entrance.

Whether Fredrique had found himself evicted, or was currently wearing a _collar_ , Nick couldn't be sure, but whatever the case, he wasn't going to be making it past this door to find out. Cautiously, he took a step backwards, then turned to walk back in the direction he'd come from.

This excursion had been one of the bigger mistakes he'd made in a long time. This was no longer the Zootopia he'd grown up in; nor the system he'd spent so long learning to hustle. The city had turned into something else, something new, and he needed to stop relying on experience gained from the old one. His overconfidence in dealing with any situation was only causing him to underestimate how dangerous the current environment was.

Putting no thought into what mode of travel he was going to use to get back to his apartment, he continued to walk. Eventually his walk became a jog, and eventually his jog became a run. A couple hours later, he was back in the Rainforest District, and another after that, he reached the warehouse.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Hello readers! I feel like I haven't properly thanked you in a while, so let me say it again here: Thank you for following along with me on this journey. Whether you were with me from the beginning or are have just recently binged this far, thank you! Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I can only hope that any enjoyment that you received from it justified the time spent to read it. I appreciate all the feedback and reviews that I get.

There were quite a few news articles in this one, and I hope you enjoy them as much as the main story. They offer me a quick way to showcase how the rest of the city is reacting to certain events, and how our villain cast is trying to spin it to the public to achieve their goals. It also serves as a reminder that this is impacting the entire city, not just Nick.

Mafdetians – Mafdet was an ancient Egyptian goddess that was sometimes depicted as a feline.

Magna Cognatione – This document is a reference to one of my other short stories, 'Verbatim', and it translates to 'The Great Family'. Think of it like the Magna Carta and (USA) Constitution all rolled into one.

Thanks to eng050599 and fatescanner for helping with the edits!


	20. Wolf Team Six

…

Day 36

…

Nick's eyes jerked back and forth with purposeful discernment as he squinted at the objects in his outstretched paws. Not only using his eyes, his paw pads moved over the flesh of each, searching for signs of damage or decay, while his sharp nose twitched in judgement over which would stay and which would go. His scrutiny went from left to right, then right to left, and back again. Finally, a third option made itself known and drew his attention to it.

Concluding that neither muskmelon met his standards, he placed them both back on the shelf and pushed his cart a few more feet down the aisle, where each of his eager paws found a carton of blueberries. He placed them both in his cart and after a much shorter deliberation, he reached out to retrieve two more. Pleased with his resolution to the dilemma, he continued through the grocery store to collect the rest of the items on his list.

He'd already crossed bread, and now fruit, off that list. Salmon was next, but he knew he would not be able to get something like that at this particular store. While there were a few fishmongers in the Rainforest District, they all received their stock from Tundra Town anyways, and they usually charged a premium for their less fresh inventory. It was an all-around better choice to just go to the source for his purchase, and he'd already mentally scheduled a trip out to the frigid district for later this evening.

Later this evening for him, that was. Now that he was fully immersed in the nocturnal lifestyle, his evening hours now corresponded to the very early morning hours for the rest of Zootopia. It was around that time that the old salty wolves and bears would return from their night at sea, and Nick planned to be there to greet their freshest catch.

The next item on his list was some leafy greens. He was largely ambivalent to these particular items, and it was really more out of three decades of habit that he had yet to cut them out of his diet completely, rather than any enjoyment or benefit he got from eating them. After that, there was only one more item on his list that he would be able to get here, and he made his way towards the back of the store to find where the _specialty_ items were located.

As he strolled through the aisles, it wasn't difficult to notice certain _gaps_ in their inventory. The shelves were not exactly bare, and many spots were in fact properly stocked, but there were still enough empty, or shallowly stocked spaces to make it noticeably disconcerting. Especially given the prediction that it could only get worse if the _situation_ continued.

As promised by _mayoral decree_ , no price tag had been modified from what its value had been last week, but many products now caveated addendums indicating limits on purchase quantity. While there had been no _official_ reports of rationing thus far, that didn't seem to have precluded its happening. Looking down at the contents of his own cart, he had the grim thought that it would only be a matter of time before each of the items that it contained would find itself in scarcity, as well.

Something else that was also difficult to ignore, was the notably empty spaces that existed _between_ the aisles. Mid-morning or not for Nick, it was just after nine in the evening for the rest of the city. Even with curfew starting up in a couple hours, the limitation shouldn't have made a difference in the Rainforest District. With nearly six million Zootopians making their homes there, it had the highest concentration of mammals in the city, and no part of it should have been quiet or empty at any time of day.

That any part of this store was empty spoke to the new level at which the savage crisis was gripping and reshaping reality. The nuances of why the particular supply chains of specific items were being affected by the crisis, and not others, was unknowable, but Nick suspected that it all eventually wound back to the same base reason that caused there to be no customers here to purchase them: fear.

And that fear was growing with every attack. The seemingly endless list of victims splayed across every form of media meant that the generalized tragedy the situation had been during the first few weeks, had now become a personalized terror for so many, that no one could possibly overlook it, or fail to have a deeply emotional connection to it. There were still no satisfactory answers to be had on what exactly was happening, or how it came about in the first place, and mounting confusion and fear of the unknown was driving increasingly irrational behavior by the public.

' _But is their behavior really all that irrational?'_ Nick mused internally. _'Is staying indoors, avoiding the metro, and not going to a grocery store after dark, really decisions that are irrational? Trying to ride the metro had obviously been the wrong decision, but did that make it an irrational decision?'_ As Nick reached the back wall, he considered if maybe it was the rest of the city that was acting rationally, and that it was _he_ who was insane for thinking that it was safe enough to go out for groceries.

Reaching his destination brought him back to the present, and set his focus back on achieving his goal of collecting all the items on his list. While this grocery store, along with most others in the city, did not carry any actual meat (and the repulsive bug mash substitutes that it did carry did not count, in Nick's opinion), it did have a small section dedicated to products more tuned to the _tastes_ of Nick's omnivorous demographic.

Among the selection of non-dairy cheeses, yogurts, butters, and tofu, there lay perhaps the only animal product readily accepted by a prey-dominated society.

Nick licked his chops as he looked over the selection of orb-shaped delicacies. He liked eggs almost as much as the crispy, breaded chickens that laid them. Some part of him did realize that the birds that had lain these eggs were probably not breaded or crispy _at the time_ , but when it came to flavors like these, he often found it difficult to think straight. He shook himself from his gawking stupor, and tried to swallow some of the excessive salivation building up in his muzzle before it drooled out.

Picking up one of the cartons, he checked its contents to ensure that none of the precious ovoids had been damaged. When satisfied, he placed it in his cart alongside his other quarry and began making his way to the checkout. As he did so, he couldn't help but fantasize about eating them. There was nearly an infinite number of ways to prepare eggs, but out of all the methods he'd ever tried, only one satisfied him fully: _raw_. For a fox, there was just nothing quite like the feeling of slurping up drippy egg whites, the texture of the yolk running across his tongue, or the primal satisfaction he got from licking out the inside of the shells.

As he got closer to checkout, he got further from his imagination, and the reality of being the only customer in the store moved fully to the forefront of his mind. Perhaps the only customer, he was not the only mammal. He'd felt the other's glare from the instant he'd entered the store, and his predatory senses had been unable to ignore the gaze that had _stalked_ him throughout his entire shopping trip. His day was really just getting started at this point and he hoped that this rabbit would just ring him up, and let him pay without incident. Buzzing instinct foreshadowed that he wouldn't be able to get off that easily, and trepidation filled him as he approached the checkout.

…

"What?!" The grey wolf yelped out from the driver's seat.

The white wolf on the passenger side shook his head as he reached over to pull an earplug out of the other wolf's nearest ear. Exasperatedly, he repeated his earlier command. "I said, take a left on Moss." Looking at the hearing protection held in his claws, he chided, "Makers, you don't even need these; you're the deafest canine I know."

"Give that back," the grey one said quickly as he took a paw off the wheel of the jet-black 92' Firehawk, and plucked his earplug out of the other wolf's claws. He hastily placed it back in his ear, then resumed speaking at a near yell, "You have no idea how loud it's going to be!"

"Can't be any worse than you," the white wolf groaned out.

"What?!"

…

Nick imagined that asking this rabbit for his daughter's paw in bonding would have been less uncomfortable than the unrelenting glower he was receiving as his items were scanned and bagged. How the rabbit was able to perform such complex tasks without removing his unblinking eyes from Nick, was bewilderingly beyond his understanding.

As the long few minutes of checkout wore on, Nick wished that he hadn't purchased quite so many items, or that he'd gone to a place with one of those do-it-yourself checkouts. After what seemed like ages of trying to casually look at magazines on the shelves, or at anything other than the angry eyes wishing to set him on fire, the last item, his carton of eggs, finally ran over the scanner and his total was finalized.

He had retrieved his wallet a minute ago in preparation for paying as quickly as possible and he sighed with a small relief that the total was round and that he did have exact change on paw. He counted it out as quickly as he could and offered it to the rabbit.

Continuing his angry scowl at Nick, the rabbit made no move to accept it. "You think that's enough to pay for what you've done?" the rabbit growled irately.

Nick's eyes moved off to the right for an instant as he tried to parse out what the question was referring to. He knew that it had been too much to ask to just have a simple and incident-free trip to the grocery store, and it had taken him no time at all to realize that this rabbit was asking him to answer for the actions of every savage predator on behalf of the entire predator family.

 _It's not like we have weekly meetings to discuss and coordinate how best to terrorize the city..._

As a fox, he was used to being blamed for the actions of every other fox that ever had, or ever would exist throughout eternity. The collective guilt was a heavy tab, and he'd raised the ante with enough of his own malfeasant contributions that he deserved, and owned every bit of blame directed his way. He couldn't hate himself enough for it, and he was willing to accept any ill will from others as a deserved punishment, but _fox guilt_ wasn't what this rabbit was targeting him for.

Even if it had been simply because he was a fox, Nick decided that he would still have had to verbally admonish this rabbit anyways because ruining other mammal's days is what foxes do. The fact that this reproach would be for something to which he did not accept responsibility, for the hundreds dead and dying at the fangs and claws of other predators, fueled the fire that would power his rebuke.

Letting his mask take over, he grinned, letting some of his teeth show. He leaned in, then placed the paw not holding his payment onto the readout that stuck up from the register and rotated it so that the green-numbered total faced the bunny. Smugly, he said, "It sure looks like the right amount."

The rabbit's face went even more cross and he quickly and roughly rotated the display back to its original position as he yelled, "Get those stinking paws off my property!"

Nick removed his paw from the display and held it up with his other one in sardonic surrender, but in a way that made sure that his claws were clearly visible. "Whatever you say, Boss."

"You damn preds have ruined me!" the rabbit shouted.

"Oh, really?" Nick said dubiously.

"Your kind is why no one comes in here anymore! You're why my employees are too scared to even come to work! You've ruined everything!" the rabbit angrily roared out.

"Have you considered that perhaps no one comes here anymore because you're a speciest asshole?" Nick asked with pretend shyness and in a pitched tone that dramatically emphasized the sarcastic question. "Hmmm? Just maybe?"

"Get out of here right now! Or-or I'll have you arrested!" the rabbit screamed as he pointed an acrimoniously shaking paw at the door.

"See what I mean?" Nick asked jovially.

The rabbit picked up a phone next to his register in an attempt to prove that he meant business and growled, "I said _beat it_ , fox!"

"You don't even want my money?" Nick asked with sardonic sorrowfulness.

"Not from a filthy murderer like you!" the rabbit shouted as he began dialing a number.

Nick chuckled at the accusation. "Look, I don't care what you do with the money, but I got places to be," Nick said haughtily as he roughly placed his bills in front of the clerk, and used his clawtips to slide the notes across the counter.

He reached over the ledge to grab the bags that were never going to be offered to him, and lifted them up. The rabbit continued to scowl menacingly with the phone to his ear. In his anger, Nick couldn't resist one final strike.

"Has anyone ever told you what a _cute_ checkout clerk you make?" Nick asked quizzically, with a deviously wide, foxy grin.

"GET OUT!" the rabbit shrieked furiously.

Nick never broke his toothy smile and shook his head with sardonic disappointment. "Guess not." He then turned towards the door, and confidently strolled out onto the street.

…

"What species you think it'll be?!" yelled the grey wolf.

The white wolf shook his head at the wager, but responded with a shout that he hoped would make it past the earplugs, "Leopard!"

"You always say that!" the grey one replied. "I think it's going to be a wombat this time!"

The white wolf shook his head even more, "Wombats aren't preds, dumbass!"

"What?!" the grey one responded.

"Oh, for the love of the Makers," the white wolf swore as he reached over to pull out the grey ones' earplug again. "Wombats are grazers, ya' dumb wolf."

"Tell that to the one who bit me during the Bearinstine case last year," the grey one offered in defense. "And stop taking my plugs out! I never did that to you, and I'm tellin' you, it's gonna' be fuckin' loud!"

"Well, I'd say it already did you irreparable damage, but we both know you never listened before we started doing this," the white one rebuked as he offered the plug back.

The grey one scoffed at the accusation as he accepted, and re-inserted the hearing protection.

…

As Nick strolled under the streetlamp glow refracting off a canopied ceiling that blocked out all of the stars, the flat expression on his face and the rhythmic breathing of cool, moist air through his snout was only a reflected shadow of the seething anger behind his mask.

 _I hate being a fox. I hate being a predator._

As angry as he was at the rabbit for irrevocably ruining his day, he was even more livid at himself for responding in kind. He hated that his reactions always proved that he was exactly what everyone suspected him to be. It had been easier when he was pretending that it was all an act, a shield to protect the real him, but now that he knew the truth, that the mask was all there was, that he really was nothing more than the horrible scoundrel that the world saw him as, he despised himself for being a fox even more.

The few blocks he'd walked so far had done nothing to soften his outlook on the day ahead. Because of the curfew, he wouldn't even be able to go on a run; he'd be trapped to broil in his apartment with nothing to occupy his time other than how much he loathed every fiber of his existence.

Lost in the black depths of his mind, awareness of his surroundings dimmed. He rounded a corner to cut through a parking lot where awareness smashed back into the foreground, as his body collided with another mammal.

The collision caused him to drop one of his bags, and he cursed as one of his cartons of blueberries spilled and the small blue balls scattered across the sidewalk.

"Watch where you're going, _fox_ ," said the sizable ram that he had just bumped into.

"Why don't you watch where _you're_ going, _sheep,_ " Nick replied with irritation as he bent down to pick up the bag.

He growled as he lifted it and could see broken egg dripping out of it. He conceded its fate and dropped the bag back on the ground before stepping to walk around the ram.

"It's getting pretty close to curfew, _red pelt_ ," the ram cautioned as Nick walked past.

"Yeah? What's it to you?" Nick called out spitefully without looking back.

"Neighborhood watch," said a voice in the darkness ahead of him.

Nick's night vision could clearly see the additional ram that had just stepped out from what must have been a rather deep alcove in the side of this building. With great effort, Nick neither changed his pace nor moved his head as his eyes strategically scanned the open parking lot to his right to evaluate its potential as an escape vector. It would not be, as there were at least four more rams incoming from that direction, leaving him completely surrounded.

"I seriously doubt that," Nick said vindictively as he angled his walk to avoid the ram that was about five yards ahead of him.

"Hear that, boss? He doesn't believe us," said a nasally ram.

Three more rams stepped out from the alcove to stand next to the first one, and in front of Nick, finally causing him to cease his movement.

 _Fuck…_

"Pretty small flock you got there," Nick said with a sardonically false delight as he tried to keep his fear masked. He was sure his scent was giving him away at this point, but he was also sure that these flat-snouts wouldn't be able to pick up on it.

"It's twelve to one, red pelt," said one of the rams behind him.

The voice was different from the one he had bumped into a moment ago, and while the sonic eye his ears were keeping on his back couldn't resolve an exact count, there were now at least as many rams behind him as there were in front of him, not counting the ones closing in from his side.

Survival instinct was quickly pushing its way into Nick's driver's seat, and the first task on the list was to triage the grocery bags still in his paws. Necessity overcoming any sense of ironic loss, he swung his arms and released the bags, letting them hit the brick wall to his left, and fall haphazardly to the side walk.

He lowered his stance, and moved one foot back slightly. He raised his now free paws, and spread out his digits to highlight his claws, as instinct began bristling the fur on his back and tail in preparation for the inevitable. He bared his teeth and gave a malicious, guttural growl.

With no feasible route for _flight_ , than _fight_ it would have to be, so he snarled out, "Let's get on with it, then."

One of the rams in front of him stepped forward as he felt the others around him continuing to close in. The ram smiled, then shouted out, "Remember the Meadows, you chomper fuck!"

…

"There!" barked the white wolf as both his ears articulated in synchrony towards the direction of the piercing sound. The wolf winced at the painfully high pitch, but at this distance, it was little more than an annoyance.

The grey one noticed the movement and quickly turned to look at him. "Told you it was loud!" he yelled.

"Shut up and drive," the white one groaned back as he pointed ahead.

"What?!" shouted the driver.

"Makers…" the white one swore under his breath as he reached to pull out the other's earplug once again. "That way. About ten, maybe twelve blocks," he said as he shook off the shock and donned his own earplugs. "On the right."

The V8 howled and pushed the two wolves deep into their seats.

…

Nick hunched over with his paws pressed tightly to his ears. The railroad spikes that had just been driven into them were nauseatingly painful. Unsure if his eyes were open or closed, though he suspected closed, the only thing he could see was a bright white that hurt almost as much as his ears did. The disorientation of suddenly finding himself deaf and blind made even more frightening the knowledge of who and what he was surrounded by. Having only one option available to him to hinder the inevitable danger he faced, he bared his teeth and growled as venomously as he could, but couldn't even hear it in his own ears.

In the moment since he'd lost his senses, about the only thing he had gained orientation on was which way was down, and that was only because he was headed that way now, as something impacted hard against the side of his head, robbing him of what tenuous shreds of equilibrium he had left. An instant later he felt another hard impact as he hit the ground, confirming his sense of direction.

Rather than further disorienting him, the double impact brought back a crisper awareness of where he was and what was happening. Still unable to hear anything but a piercing ring, the white pain in his eyes was beginning to dim. Even so, he knew that he wouldn't be able to rely on those senses at any point in the near future. That didn't mean that he was helpless though; he was a predator, and a quick thinking, resourceful fox at that. He continued growling and baring his teeth, and drew together enough motivation to pull his paws off his aching ears to prepare their claws for use on anything unlucky enough to enter his grasp.

A hoof impacted hard against his back, and broke his growl into a yelp of pain. Realization that they would probably continue to kick him was quick to materialize, and with it, a plan on how to target his claws without using sight or sound.

It didn't take long for his suspicions to be confirmed, as another hoof landed on his leg, followed by yet another on his side. He received another kick in the back, causing him to involuntarily arch, and yelp in pain again. Even if he couldn't see them, or help his reflexive movement, he knew they wouldn't miss how open a target his stomach had just become. He couldn't do anything about that now, except brace himself to make the most of the situation.

A hoof struck hard against his ribs. Some part of his mind actually felt the bones flexing in his chest as the impact force was absorbed, protecting his lungs and other vitals from damage. Sharp spikes of agony foretold of the trauma being inflicted upon his body, and a new level of pain found refuge in his chest as the wind was forced out of him. He'd been as prepared for that as one could be though, and he knew that he probably wouldn't get a chance like this again. With all the speed his predatory paws were capable of, he brought them together onto the leg that had just kicked him, and dug his claws into the flesh of what they'd captured. Pulling on it as hard as he could, he used his claws to dig out even more leverage from beneath the wool.

Some muffled sound was finally filtering in past the ringing in his ears, and the sea of white in his vision was now becoming an indistinct darkness, tinged with red. He wasn't sure if that constituted improvement, and if it did, he still had a long way to go, but compared to where he'd been a few seconds ago, it seemed like he was making progress. With this questionable new clarity, some of the ringing in his ears revealed itself to be laughter coming from the rams, but as he quickly drew the leg in his grasp towards him, then jumped his paws higher on the rams body to consolidate his gains, one of those voices ceased its merriment, and bleated, "Get it off of me!"

He felt two more hard kicks on his back, but he also felt the ram in his clutches fall to the ground. His vision continued making progress and resolved a blocky white figure backed by darkness. It was already too late for any new information to change his current trajectory, as his survival instincts had almost completely taken over, and they would be damned if he was going to go down without a good fight. He was a predator, after all, and when backed into a corner, he had more than just claws at his disposal to get him out of it; his bared fangs making it clear that he intended to do what he had to.

Still mostly deaf and blind, he'd managed to get atop at least one of his assailants, and perhaps, even if momentarily, gained the upper paw in this fight. That moment hastily ended as a hoof struck hard against the side of his head, flinging him from the ram and back onto the concrete sidewalk.

Everywhere was tender, and every breath and movement was misery, but that only meant that he was still alive, and he forced himself to recover back to his paws as quickly as possible in order to keep it that way.

"Agh! That fucking pelt slashed me!" Nick heard a ram yell just as he'd achieved success in pushing himself back up onto four paws.

His eyes found a blurry figure a few feet away that was struggling to get up, and he figured this to be the unlucky ungulate that he'd just had in his grip, and the one that had just knocked him to the ground. He wasn't going to have enough time to stand up fully, and every instant he waited increased the probability of another kick coming from one of his many blind spots, but he instinctively knew that he'd be able to generate a great deal more force from this stance anyway, so he pounced.

As he dived back onto the ram, he heard a panicked squeal confirming that he had regained the offensive, if only for another instant. Adrenaline and primeval impulse numbed him to the reality of what it was his claws, and possibly his jaws, were about to do to keep him alive.

He didn't get the chance to capitalize on his achievement though, or see how far his drive for self-preservation was willing to go, as an agonizing torment, worse than the blinding and the deafening that had occurred only seconds ago, convulsed through his body. It took away what little breath he had and caused him to go so rigid, he couldn't even yelp at the hot lightning that blazed through his existence.

When the excruciating torture finally stopped, and he found himself lying on the ground panting heaving gasps. Surmising that he'd just been tazed, he couldn't really imagine what else it could have been, he felt the disorientation return, but tried force past it to gather enough strength for a third round. His eyelids were heavy from an overwhelming exhaustion that was threatening to take him from consciousness, but he used what might he had left to force them back open.

His sight was blurry and doubled, but through the confoundment, it was clear that the flock of rams were not done with him yet. Seeing a single, duplicated figure approaching him, possibly the one he'd just attacked, he made an effort to roll, squirm, or even crawl away, but he discovered that his muscles were too achingly numb from the shock to do so. He was powerless to do anything but lay paralyzed, panting and grunting, muzzle down on the concrete.

Nick felt a set of hoofs go under each of his arms, then felt himself being lifted up off the ground. It terrified him to be out of control like this, but the one thing he still had say over was whether or not he gave them the satisfaction of knowing just how scared he was. If that was the only thing he had power over, he was going to grip onto it, with his very life if he had to, and ensure that his assailants would never get the fulfillment of knowing that they were getting to him.

"I told you not to taze him!" growled the ram angrily at one of his comrades.

Nick tried to lift his head to confront his captors, but it was heavy on his neck and he couldn't do it. The arms under his had lifted him up high enough to pull his feet up off the ground and he dangled helplessly, too weakened to even struggle. While he was unable to lift his head, his eyes, still blurry, were able to look up and see one of the rams approaching him.

"I want you awake for this, red pelt," the ram said in a menacingly quiet voice as he reached out with his hooves to grab Nick's muzzle and straighten out his head. "It's more... _enjoyable_ that way."

Sometimes Nick hated being so smart. A lesser mammal might still have found a chance at hope in the uncertainty that his future held, but staring into the odious depths of those disturbingly atavistic bar-eyes Nick had no misgivings or delusions about what was going to happen next.

It hadn't been often, but this wouldn't be the first time he'd been beaten. It was an unavoidable part of the career path he'd chosen, but the last time had been more than a decade ago, and by someone with paws at that. Getting hit by hooves was something else entirely, and from what he'd experienced so far, he didn't figure these rams to be the types to hold back.

He had no misconceptions about how this was likely to end, either. How close to, or far past, the brink of death they were going to take him, was a matter that he no longer had a say in. His fate, whatever it may be, was sealed. Whether the plan was born of bravery or stupidity, he only knew it to be fueled by adrenaline, cynical gall, and the ever present piece of him that hated everything about who and what he was.

It hurt to breathe. If they hadn't broken his ribs, they'd sure bruised the hell out of them. He managed to get out a mirthy chuckle, but it hurt to do it. He knew speaking was going to hurt even worse, and that the words he spoke, and actions he'd take, would lead to even more pain still.

His voice was raspy, but he still managed to keep his tone condescending. "You know what I think is enjoyable?" Then with much more aggression he abruptly answered his own question, "Mutton!"

While he still couldn't discern anything more than the most basic details of the ram in front of him, he didn't need his eyes to feel where the hoof was on his face. Overcoming the numbness from the shock required the exertion of every bit of strength he had, and he used it to jerk his head to the left and clamp down his jaws on the arm that had been unwise enough to enter their range.

His own rushing blood and the ram's panicked shouts filled his ears. With the sickeningly sweet taste of blood on his tongue, he was replete with a twisted pleasure that, even from his thoroughly inferior position, he was still able to get back on the offensive like this.

 _I AM A PREDATOR!_

The consolation didn't give him enough grit to ignore the removal of a hoof from the right side of his face, nor the feeling of its high velocity return. The impact forced his jaw open enough for his prey to escape its grasp. Dots of light scattered across his vision, and an aching pain shot through his neck, and into the shoulders supporting his dangling weight.

The ram looked at his bleeding wrist, and then at Nick.

"You're going to regret that…" he grumbled threateningly.

The attempt to follow up on the promise came as another hit, but it imbued Nick with no regret, and he had every intention of doing it again, should the opportunity present itself.

Like the rabbit that he speculated had called this hit on him, Nick guessed that these rams were doing this because he was a predator, with the fact that he was a fox being only coincidental. With most of his higher reasoning unavailable at the present moment, a new, and malformed idea began to coalesce: If they were going to beat him, possibly to death, than it was going to be because he was a _fox_ , not because he was a predator.

 _I AM A FOX!_

He coughed a laugh and looked back up with smug, half-lidded and swollen eyes atop a wry, bleeding smirk. "C'mon now," he labored to keep his voice casual as he grunted it out, "if that's all you got, then there's no way we're gonna' finish before curfew."

His eyes had regressed their earlier progress after the last hit, but his ears were still making advancements, and they, along with the side of his face, received the response in its entirety.

"Shut!" the ram yelled with a punch to punctuate the word.

"Up!" Another shout and another hit.

"You!" A louder shout and a harder hit.

"Fucking!" Nick barely heard it over the sound of the hammering reverb inside his skull.

"Red!" He didn't _hear_ so much as he _felt_ the tendons in his arms and shoulders being pulled taught, well beyond their physical limits as they failed to absorb the energy passing through his neck, and began to tear.

"PELT!" The final pronouncement was so loud that it even overcame the tremendous, concussive impact of the hoof against Nick's head.

What was left of his consciousness was raw agony mixed with adrenaline, acceptance, and the irrational desire to piss off these rams as much as possible while there was still breath in his body to do so. It wasn't a complicated directive, and he coughed as he labored to gasp air back into his lungs for that purpose. Each inhale was the pained scent of his own blood, and each exhale was a mad, choking chuckle. Finally getting enough air past his aching ribs, he gaspingly spoke with complete contempt for his current situation.

"This your first time, no-thumbs?" The words were painful to speak, but not any more so relative to the rest of him, so he pushed on. "I know a vixen that could teach you a thing or two about being rough."

This time the hit came to his gut, and he nearly threw up from the blow, as everything in his small abdomen compressed and squeezed the wind out of him. He struggled to gasp it back in as his head fell to press his chin against his chest. It wasn't going to do much to protect him from another blow, but conscious reasoning had relinquished most of its control to the instinctual reflex that was now governing his movements.

The ram leaned in right next to Nick's ear and growled a whisper, "We'll get her eventually."

Nick hadn't been expecting quite such a literal answer, and even though he knew they had no idea who he was talking about, he felt enough sour guilt for potentially putting her in danger, that the sensation competed sickeningly with his physical pain. He tried to recover any satisfaction he may have just inadvertently given them, and in between hitching breaths he managed to choke out another taunt.

"You're, ah, _not_ her type."

Whether they understood the joke or _not_ , another impact landed hard on his side, and if they hadn't already, he was now certain that they had finally cracked at least one of his ribs. The awkward manner in which they were holding him was taking its toll as well, and it was now a four-way race between whether one of his shoulders would dislocate before one of his arms broke from the strain of absorbing each hit.

The ram got right in his face and asked incredulously, "You ever shut up, fox?"

Nick wheezed another cough. The taste of blood from his own veins, and that of his assailant's, filled his mouth and with grim satisfaction, he spat the mixture directly into the ram's face, and growled, "You ever gonna' hit me?"

The ram clocked him hard enough that time seemed to skip the actual moment of contact and jump him ahead to the instant immediately after; the instant where all the pain was. He was dazed, but not confused, and he estimated that he hadn't too many more chances left to fulfill his final mission of sticking it to these rams. If they were going to beat him to death anyways, then it was the most he could do to keep it on his terms.

"Guess not," he grunted out with as much of a devious grin as he could form.

The ram hit him again. Then again, and again, and again, and again. He didn't stop, and each blow drew Nick's consciousness further from the pain that he was supposed to be experiencing. He didn't know if being knocked out would make them stop, but if this ram was even half as angry as his punches suggested, then he could pass from consciousness in the satisfaction that he had accomplished his final goal.

…

"Makers damnit! Slow down!" the white wolf yelled as he gripped the door handle with one paw, and used the other to point out the window at the empty parking lot they were about to overshoot.

"What?!" yelled the grey one as he looked to his right and saw what the white one was pointing at.

Upon seeing their target, rather than slowing down, the grey wolf pushed the pedal further into the floor. He turned the wheel sharply to the right and drilled the curb hard. The sporty suspension only took a small fraction of the impact, and their tails and seatbelts strained to take the rest. The engine revved violently as its torque clawed uselessly at the air beneath their tires. During the millisecond of flight-time they'd achieved, the grey wolf had dropped the clutch, shifted gears to first, and pulled up on the pawbrake lever. He'd even managed to activate the stereo before returning his paw to the steering wheel. A blue LED display on the dash scrolled the message _'Beastie Bats: Sabotage'_ as a guitar riff began blasting out of the maxed-out sound system.

There had probably been protest and more cursing from the white wolf in the seat next to him, but the grey one would have been too focused in the moment to hear it anyways, even if he hadn't been wearing the hearing protection. His final preparation for landing was to spin the wheel as far to the right as he could, and at the same instant he'd finished, the front tires dug hard into the parking lot they'd just careened into. The positioning of their steering direction, and the locked up rear tires, kicked the back end of the car around a full one-hundred eighty degrees from its original direction, just as he'd planned. Oversteer forced the back end to continue sliding past its mark, and without hesitation, he disengaged the pawbrake, once again jammed the accelerator into the floor, and popped the clutch as he straightened out the steering wheel.

At no time since hitting the curb had the muscle car ever achieved full traction, and the redlined tachometer and pair of screaming rear tires struggled to get the car up to speed. It wasn't a concern though, as their headlights illuminated that they had already achieved success in acquiring the attention of a flock of perplexed looking rams backed by a brick building on the far side of the parking lot, and the loud, thunderous entrance was merely an effort to keep it that way.

To his credit, the white wolf in the passenger seat had been ready, despite the rough landing and already had the grey one's automatic rifle proffered before the car had even come to a complete stop. As the tires screeched to a halt, the body of the car still had quite a ways to travel on the suspension and the two wolves used the inertia to synchronously throw open their doors, and launch out of their seats.

Smoke from the tires caught up to them and provided cover as they rolled out of the still rocking vehicle, and in a single fluid motion, both had recovered from a somersault with their guns leveled. Flicking a single switch disengaged their safeties, and activated their targeting lasers. Controlled three-shot bursts began traveling along the red beams to impact the scattering rams on the far side of them as spent casings clinked gently inside brass catchers that ensured no additional evidence would betray their source. Flash-suppressed gunpowder, bleats of panic, and mists of red filled the air as the two wolves steadily approached the horde, and methodically worked over each of their targets.

It was quite literally the old adage of shooting fish in a barrel. The twelve-sheep flock was hardly a challenging target set to the well-trained wolf pack. Their _prey_ was unarmed, clawless, and fangless. There could have been a dozen more before any actual challenge started presenting itself.

Each wolf kept his groupings tight as he eliminated each ram with quick bursts, cycling back to each for good measure. They only ceased firing when movement could no longer be detected by the sharply night visioned eyes protected behind aviators that sharply mirrored the ungulate carnage in front of them.

One ram got the idea that he could charge the wolf pair, and was quickly dissuaded of that notion via a three-round burst to his forehead that imparted enough force to lift him up off his feet. Still another felt the inclination to use a strobe flash to return fire. Not even a fraction of the photon burst made it through the UV1000 coated aviators, and the would-be avenger was rewarded with a cloud of red that replaced his weapon-wielding hoof, closely followed by another three-shot burst to his chest.

It had been just shy of T-plus seven seconds since the first shot had been fired, and seeing no more active targets, the white wolf looked over to the grey one, who looked back at him. Even in the low light, both could see their reflection in the other's glasses and both could see each other's smoking rifle. The white nodded and called out, "Clear!"

The grey one responded, "What?!"

The white one placed a paw on his face and shook his head with disdain. He then used that paw to pull out one of his earplugs and hold it up to the grey wolf. Finally understanding the gesture, the grey one pulled out each of his own plugs, placing them into one of the innumerable pockets on his tactical vest, as the white one did the same. Each had a coy grin at hearing the music still blaring from the idling car behind them.

"I counted twelve on the way in, and," the white one paused as he contemplated the current count again, "looks like ten here." He added as he ejected the partially spent magazine, and slipped it into one of his pouches before slapping in a fresh one. Even with all targets appearing to be out of commission, drilled muscle memory wasn't on tonight's casualty list.

"Confirmed," said the grey one as the two approached the red-splattered wall and the several neutralized heaps of red-covered wool that had not managed to escape the earlier barrage.

"I saw one go off to the right, but I'm sure I got a few rounds into him," the white one said.

"I dropped one over there," the grey one pointed over a ways from the main killzone. "I doubt yours made it very far, but either way, he won't be trying this again for at least a few days," the grey one reasoned as he approached the bloody red fox, laying muzzle-down among the other bodies.

Both their features fell into grim looks of concern as the grey one rolled over one of the inert ram bodies with his foot to make room for him to kneel down next to the fox. He removed one of his synthetic leather gloves and placed two of his digits on the fox's neck. With evident relief, he looked up and said, "Still breathing."

…

There was no telling what was real anymore. He had quite literally had all of his reasoned senses knocked out of him, and what dim consciousness remained was pure id, capable only of the most basic emotion.

There was _'happy'_ that the infliction of additional pain had stopped. There was _'hate'_ at the pain that already existed, and _'fear'_ that death was still inevitable. There was _'comfort'_ from the feeling of contact on his neck; contact that contrasted heavily with the type that he'd experienced ' _earlier'_. Then there was _'relief'_ drawn from the tone of a distant, muffled voice that spoke words he stood no chance of understanding in his present condition.

"You're going to be okay, fox. It's over. You're going to be okay."

He felt paws position themselves along his side and then painfully roll him over. He tried to open his eyes, but was only successful with one of them. The blurry image refused to either gain clarity, or remain still as his eye wandered drunkenly around its swollen socket. He thought that one of the figures might have been a wolf, but he no longer had a sense of smell to confirm it.

"You still with me, fox?" a grey figure above him asked.

The words had a familiar sound to him, but Nick had no idea what they meant. The movement had been painful and he could only groan in response. He was tired and he let his head roll over to his side with the faint intention of falling asleep.

His wandering eye found a white figure meandering about some distance away. He was walking among piles of red-splattered fluff. A fragment of memory suggested that those piles of fluff were responsible for the pain he was now experiencing. More fragments started stitching themselves together and with them, the realization that it hadn't been himself that had forced these heaps to the ground. It must have been these grey and white figures, these grey and white wolves that had stopped the others from hurting him.

One of the piles moved, and Nick heard it shout, "You pup of a bitch!"

He wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but the tone stirred more fear in him. He heard the white figure growl venomously, then extend an object in his paw. A triple succession of muffled pops rang out, followed by silence.

The sound and the act reawakened some of Nick's higher reasoning, and with it, the panicked realization of what had just happened. These wolves were insane; he wasn't safe at all.

…

The grey wolf shook his head at the white one.

"What?" the white one said. "He can't just talk about mom like that."

"Whoa, whoa, easy there fox," the grey one said quickly as he placed his paws on the squirming red fox in an effort to steady him.

Even under the swelling and blood-matted fur, it was easy to see that the fox was extremely frightened.

"You're safe now," the grey one tried to reassure him.

"K-kill them?" the fox barely managed to sputter out the alarmed words.

Realizing what this must have looked like from the fox's perspective, the grey one's eyes went wide at the accusation and he quickly replied, "No, no, no! It's just tact rounds!"

He reached over to one of the unconscious rams and dabbed his gloved paw into one of the red splotches. He brought his digits back over the fox's face, then rubbed and separated them to show that it was a viscous sticky goo.

Seeing that the fox was only marginally convinced, he added, "They're like, um… paintballs."

"With a little extra kick," the white wolf supplemented as he approached. "Can he walk? We need to get out of here. And get that glove stowed, I don't need you tranqing yourself while we're driving."

The grey wolf pulled off his contaminated glove, rolling it inside out as he did so, and stuffed it into the pocket of his flak jacket. He then held up his grey paw over the fox's face, and asked, "How many?"

The slight skew of the dark-tipped ears told the grey wolf everything he needed to know about the state of this fox's confusion, even before he apprehensively replied, "Five?"

"Guess not," the white wolf said definitively.

"Sorry about this, fox, but we gotta' get outa' here," the grey one said before shoving his paws under the bloody fox's back and lifting him up.

A beseeching yowl sent shivers down both wolves' spines. The grey one steeled himself as he carried the limp, wailing fox to the back of his car. Though his muzzle was full of blood and shouts of agony, the grey wolf was thankful to see that all the fangs and other teeth were still in their proper places.

"You wanna call it in?" he asked the white one.

"Yeah, I got it," the white one replied as he retrieved his phone. "Do we need one for him, too?" he asked as he began dialing the number for emergency services.

"We'll see what Miriam thinks," the grey one responded dubiously as he set the fox into the back seat.

"She's gonna' be pissed if he dies in the back of your car," the white one warned sardonically.

The grey one shook his head. "Nah, he looks pretty tough. Aren't you, fox?"

The fox groaned in response and began to slump over. "Woah," the grey wolf said as he rushed to catch him. Thinking better of the seating arrangement, he strapped the belt around the fox to better keep him held in place.

The white one looked at the grey one incredulously and shook his head again.

"He'll be fine," the grey one argued, before resuming making sure the fox was at least moderately comfortable.

The white wolf shrugged and continued to wait for emergency services to pick up. Scrambler phones, like the type often used by the ZPD while on undercover operations, the same type that this one was, took slightly longer to connect calls. When the call finally went though, the number would show up as restricted and the location trace would come back null. Like the riot rifles, and the high velocity tranq-paint rounds they fired, this phone had recently been _repurposed_ , but each wolf was confident that the gear was going to much better use out here on the streets, then it had been on the inside of the locked armory closet that they'd been _liberated_ from a few days ago.

"Yeah, I got a flock of sheep here on Moss and, um… Fifth, that need medical attention," the white wolf said over the line.

"Looks like they tripped," he stated bluntly.

"I don't know, however many a flock is," he replied with clear annoyance.

"No, it's not _me_ again, _Sarah_! Now do your job and send EMS!" he said quickly before abruptly hanging up the phone.

The grey one looked at him cautiously.

"Let's get out of here," the white one said as he moved to reenter the car.

…

Everything hurt, and was only getting worse. His worsening feeling was more due to his returning consciousness, rather than any actual degradation of his condition. The sensations and memories that had been a distant fog were growing nearer and sharper.

He realized that he'd been beaten, and pretty severely at that. He'd been beaten before, but by paws. The hoofs that he'd just been bashed with were something else entirely, and much worse than what he'd remembered of paws.

What had started this most recent pounding was still too foggy to specifically recall, but he was sure that the two wolves in the front seats of a car that he didn't remember getting into had had something to do with making it stop.

"Where?" Nick choked out the raspy word, then coughed painfully. The agony caused him to regret asking, and he curled his tail around his midsection, followed by his arms to hold himself.

"Told you he wouldn't die," said the driver to the white wolf in the passenger seat.

"How you doing back there, fox?" the white one turned in his seat to look back at him.

He knew it would hurt again, but Nick's returning awareness had a desperate desire to fill some of the gaps in his memory, so he tried again, but could only manage to get out, "Who?"

"I'm Trent Grizzolli, and this is Matt Wolford," the white wolf said. "We're ZPD."

Nick hadn't quite summoned enough strength to speak again, but he gave as best a skeptical look as he could.

"Well, _semi-retired_ ZPD, I suppose," Grizzolli added with a slight degree of confusion at how best to explain the situation.

"Only after we won the damn lotto," Wolford replied disdainfully.

"You really think you'd have lasted longer under a merit system?" Grizzolli admonished.

Wolford gave a hurt whine in response, to which Grizzolli shook his head.

Nick had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, but it was certainly more interesting than focusing on the raw misery that saturated his body.

"Anyways, now we're Wolf Team Six!" Wolford said excitedly.

"For Makers' sake," Grizzolli said with weary frustration as he put a paw to his brow ridge and looked at Wolford. "How many times do I have to tell you that there are only _two_ of us?"

"And how many times do I have to tell _you_ that the 'Six' isn't a count?" Wolford retorted as he moved his paw to activate a switch that lowered both front windows.

The cool evening breeze that rushed in did wonders for Nick's awareness of the world and accelerated the return of his higher reasoning skills.

"Don't do it, Matt," Grizzolli growled sternly.

Nick could see Wolford wink at him in the rear view mirror, then give a devious look to Grizzolli. He then leaned his head out of the window and enthusiastically began to howl.

"Fuck…" Grizzolli cursed under his breath before leaning his own head out of the window and joining the howl.

Nick could hear other wolves in the distance joining the call and he solemnly shook his head.

 _What is it with wolves and the howling?_

The familiar question rose to the surface of his murky mind. There were still quite a few gaping holes in his fragmented memory, but if one thing was certain, these two wolves had just saved his life, and had been exultant to do so. They could howl all night so far as he was concerned, even if the underlying reason as to _why_ continued to remain elusive.

After a few minutes, they eventually exhausted themselves and returned their heads back inside the car.

"You're a bastard," Grizzolli said resolutely.

"Hey, c'mon now," Wolford said with hurt in his voice, "You don't like your mom being talked about, so don't talk about my dad like that."

"Sorry," Grizzolli relented sincerely before looking back at Nick.

His sense of time was minimal as soreness from every part of his body magnified the throbbing agony in his head. An overwhelming fatigue begged him to give into it.

"Whoa, fox. Stay with us now," Grizzolli insisted at the increasingly woozy-looking fox. Attempting to keep his attention, Grizzolli started in on some basic questions. "You remember your name, bud?"

Slightly to his own surprise, he did remember and groaned out, "Nick."

"That's good. That's good. Do you know what happened to you, Nick?" the white wolf asked.

Even beneath the bruising, the blood-matted fur, and the aching pain, he was still Nick, and he responded with snarky disdain. "Wool-heads."

Grizzolli chuckled a bit, then said, "Yeah, close enough."

"You got your ass kicked pretty hard," Wolford chipped in. "But you took it like a champ!"

Grizzolli glared at him. "Dude, c'mon. Have some class."

"What? He's one tough-ass fox!" Wolford continued on enthusiastically.

Suddenly Grizzolli's ears went askew and he cocked his head in contemplation. "Nick…" he said slowly, as if testing out his pronunciation. "Nick?" he said again as though mining some familiarity out of it. He then looked at Nick incredulously. "You're not Nick _Wilde_ , are you?"

Nick was only _fairly_ certain that he was, but slightly skewed his own features in confusion at why this wolf knew who he was. He grunted and nodded his head slightly in response.

"Makers! This is Nick Wilde!" Grizzolli exclaimed at his partner.

"Who?" Wolford asked.

" _Nick Wilde._ That fox that helped Hopps take down Lionheart!" Grizzolli shouted in amazement.

"Seriously?" Wolford responded, bemused, before taking his eyes off the road and also looking back at Nick in amazement. "Was that you?"

Nick reluctantly nodded his head again to accept the accusation of identity. He was fortunately too dazed for anything else associated with that act to rise to the surface.

"Damn! I can't believe we just saved Nick Wilde!" Grizzolli cried out.

"I told you! We're just like Wolf Team Six!" Wolford barked out.

"Damn straight we are!" Grizzolli relented with a shout. He turned back to look at Nick and said, "It's going to be okay, Nick. We're gonna' get you to someone that'll patch ya' up, good as new."

Nick wasn't entirely confident in their promise, but they seemed sincere in their intentions.

"Hey, get him to start a howl for us," Wolford said jovially.

"Oh, c'mon! Another one?" Grizzolli inquired exasperatedly, but Wolford was already rolling down the windows again.

Wolford took his eyes off the road again to look back at Nick, and implored, "Start a howl, Nick?"

Nick would later consider this moment as the best evidence of just how hard he'd been hit on the head, because in his disorientation, he weakly groaned out something that might have sounded like, "Awooo?" but was just as likely to have been a moan of pain mixed with his confusion at the request.

Regardless of what it was, it had been plenty enough to get Wolford started, and Grizzolli was powerless to stop himself from joining in.

…

"What the fuck is wrong with you two?!" a red fox vixen excoriated the two wolves standing in front of her, one of which was holding a very bloodied, nearly unresponsive fox in his arms.

"You want us to take him somewhere else?" Grizzolli asked sheepishly as he looked at the ground.

"Too late to use your brains now!" the vixen yelled. Then she commanded, "Put him down over there."

As Wolford went to lay Nick on one of the many cots spread throughout the room, the vixen continued her reprimand. "What were you thinking?! He should have been transported by EMS or at least taken to a hospital! A _real_ hospital!"

"Oh, c'mon, Miriam. That's what you're for. Besides, if they hadn't arrested him on the spot as a suspect for attacking those rams, they probably would have just let him bleed out in the waiting room," Wolford tried to argue.

 _Registered Nurse_ Miriam burned a hole right through both of the grey wolf's coats. "I take great offence to that," she growled irately.

"But do you take disagreement to it?" Grizzolli tried to remedy the situation with some reason.

Miriam turned her menacing gaze on him, but also did not disavow his point. Even so, it still forced an additional confession out of the white wolf.

"Look, it was his idea. I thought we should have called him an ambulance," Grizzolli divulged quickly as he pointed at Wolford.

Wolford shook his head and said sardonically, "Some pack mate you are."

"Lay off it, you two," Miriam lamented the current situation and turned her attention to her new patient. "So who is he?"

"His name is Nick Wilde. He got beat pretty badly by some rams," Wolford replied as she walked over to have a look at the fox.

"I can see that," she said as she drew a pen out her pocket. "Can you hear me, Nick?" she said softly.

Nick nodded his head slightly, as he looked up at the blurry red form above him. He was getting more tired by the second, and just wanted to fall asleep, now more than ever.

"Good. Can you follow this light for me?" she said gently as a dim red LED illuminated at the tip of her pen.

Nick did his best to follow it, but reasoned that he hadn't done a very good job of it.

"You good?" Grizzolli asked.

"What, are you leaving?" Miriam asked incredulously.

"Night's still young, and I think it's pretty obvious that there's more than one of those gangs roving around out there," Grizzolli responded indignantly.

Consulting a clock on the wall, Miriam looked back at them and said, "Curfew starts in less than an hour."

"So? We're cops! _Sorta…_ " Wolford tried to argue.

She gave a relenting huff and conceded with, "Could have fooled me. Just be safe out there."

"Eh, you know us, Miriam," Wolford said jovially.

She shook her head again and said, "That's the problem."

Before leaving, Grizzolli went to stand over Nick and put a paw on his shoulder. "Hang in there, Nick, you're in good paws now."

Nick could barely hear him as the comfort of laying down was quickly draining the remaining consciousness out of him.

"Too bad there's no more preds on the force; we could have used a tough ol' tod like that," Wolford said to Grizzolli as they made their way towards the door.

"Yeah, a fox cop," Miriam sarcastically scolded the two wolves.

There was more conversation, but Nick couldn't track or understand any of it as the words _'a fox cop'_ became lodged in his ears, leaving him unable to process anything else. It was with that final thought that oblivion claimed him, and he finally passed out.

…

Day 38

…

The sun, high above the lush green of the Rainforest District canopy, was well on its way to completing its second journey across the sky since Nick had last seen it. He wasn't entirely sure if it had felt like that long, but his caretakers had been pretty insistent when he'd finally awoken a few hours ago.

If there had been one thing that confirmed the date, it was the ravenous gnawing hunger that had accompanied his return to consciousness. He guessed that this had probably been the longest he'd ever gone without eating. Skipping breakfast on the day of his infamous shopping trip, plus the thirty-eight hour _nap_ he'd apparently taken, had added up to well over two days since his last meal. For the vixen that had been minding him during his recovery, it had been all she could do to keep him from swallowing his first meal whole. If it hadn't been for the pervasive pain that forced regulation over all his movements, she might well have lost.

That soreness had become a little more manageable as Nurse Miriam, as she had introduced herself as, had taken mercy on him and made sure that he received a dose of something special shortly before he'd started eating. It had taken him a long way from where he'd started, but it hadn't gotten him anywhere near what he would consider to be pain-free, and, not wanting him to form a habit, she'd been stingy with the extras she'd provided before discharging him from Triage Outpost RF-5.

Nick took his eyes from the scenery outside and looked down at the tiny orange bottle in his paw where a scant five Tramadol pills gently rattled against each other in response to the slight jostling of the car ride back to his apartment. He of all mammals had enough contacts to get more, and even at crisis prices, money wouldn't be the thing that hindered him from doing so. But she was right about the risks, and Nick had no interest in finding himself on the wrong side of a hustle and blowing his fortunes on becoming an addict.

He shook off the idea and looked past his paws to see the sling that his arm was in. Past that, his eyes locked in on his seat, and he couldn't help but stare at the dark red splotches stained into its fabric.

"Sorry for getting blood all over your car," Nick said with slight embarrassment.

"I told ya', it's no big deal!" Wolford replied with kind sincerity from the driver's seat.

He _had_ told Nick that at least three times now. Wolford had also insisted that the rescue was 'no big deal' either, but that hadn't stopped Nick from thanking him and Grizzolli at least a dozen times since he'd woken up.

The two had been there to greet him when he'd finally returned to consciousness. They'd had an odd familiarity, but even after reintroducing themselves, nothing more concrete than that could be dredged from Nick's memory.

They had recounted the bits of the night that they'd been present for, and speculated on the parts that they were not, based on the similarity to other such attacks on predators that they were aware of; the number of which was stunning. Nick had been able to confirm that the use of an ultrasonic wolf whistle and high-powered strobe light, a method which Grizzolli had informed him was quickly becoming standard operating tactics for the groups behind these attacks, had been thoroughly effective in disabling him before the fight had even started. If there was anything to be gained from the savage stun technique, it was that it made it much easier for 'Wolf Team Six' to locate and intervene when these assaults occurred.

Based on what else he'd been told, it had been a good thing that the wolves had arrived when they did. Nick hadn't been the first predator they'd rescued, and while he had certainly been the worst off that they'd personally seen, there had been more than a few examples over the previous week of predators that had not been quite so lucky. It had been those cases that had inspired the pair to continue their mission of protecting and serving the mammals of Zootopia, with or without their badges.

The two ZPD officers of indeterminate status had been suspended from the force several days ago due only to the fact of their having been born predators. Through an awkward arrangement that they weren't exactly sure how to explain, each was still getting paid, and a sense of duty to continue executing the oath that they'd taken had been too burdensome for either to justify just sitting on their paws for the rest of eternity, and letting their skill sets go unused. It had been Wolford's idea to fill their days with volunteer work at the triage outposts, where they had met Miriam, and Grizzolli's idea to fill their nights with vigilante work, which they were hesitant to call it, in what they knew for a fact to be underserviced and overstressed patrol zones.

As interested as Nick was to hear their story, they had been even more interested to hear his. The name 'Nick Wilde' had apparently achieved minor fame within Precinct One during the days after the arrest of one Leodore Lionheart when the force's newest officer, one Judy Hopps, had insisted to anyone that would listen that she'd had help with cracking the case.

Masking not only the pain, but some of his higher reasoning skills as well, the drugs had blunted the cynical stance Nick usually took on life, and on that event in particular, making him slightly more open to hearing what the wolves had to say about the accolades Officer Hopps had bestowed upon him. He'd been surprised, happy, sad, and a dozen other emotions that he was unable to classify when he'd heard about what high esteem she'd held him in, the credit she'd given him, and the outright lies, in Nick's opinion, she'd told on his behalf. More confused emotions had ensued after the revelation that the ZPD's first bunny cop had resigned two weeks ago.

Not being alone, and likely the drugs, had kept those thoughts and feelings from dragging him anywhere dark, leaving the soreness that pervaded his body as the only challenge he faced during his review of the highlights from those infamous days of crime fighting.

As enamored as the two wolves had been with the _legend of Nick Wilde_ , not to mention Wolford's continual veneration for how well the fox could take a hit, Nick had been struck throughout the day not only by amazement at what _characters_ these two were, but also by admiration for how much _character_ they had.

"Thanks for the ride, guys. And for everything else, really," Nick said as the car came to a stop outside his building.

"Hang in there, Nick," Wolford said warmly as Nick stepped out and closed the door.

"You too," Nick replied.

"Give us a call if you ever wanna' do a ride along and get some payback!" Grizzolli shouted.

Wolford chuckled and revved the engine before peeling out. Nick watched them speed off into the distance, and then out of sight.

Reluctantly, he turned to stare at his apartment building. Down here at street level, it looked like a building that could have been from any district, but up several stories it had been engineered to look more like an oversized redwood. His unit wasn't up that high, but in his current condition he still estimated that it would be a struggle to make the trip.

His guess was correct, and the journey up the stairs had been quite the undertaking. Trying to keep his mind off the discomfort, he wondered what had become of Finnick while he'd been away. From the fennec's perspective, it had been two days ago the last time they'd spoken. Nick had said that he was heading out to get some groceries, and then just never returned.

At some point during the altercation, Nick's phone had been smashed, and he hadn't any idea what Finnick's number was without it. If his fox friend wasn't still here, figuring out how to contact him would be a task for tomorrow as, even with nearly two straight days of sleep under his belt, he was still completely exhausted, and climbing the seemingly countless flights of steps had not done his energy level any favors.

Some part of him hoped that Finnick was not there to greet him. While the comfort of company seemed preferable to lonesomeness right now, he had no wish to relive the events of the last few days by explaining his current state. His tape and gauze-covered snout, his blackened eyes, topped by crooked, drooping ears, the arm sling, the chest wrap, his blood-stained clothes, and his dirty matted fur would prompt an onslaught of questions to which he had no desire to answer.

Reaching the landing on his level, he stepped into his familiar hallway, and walked to his familiar door. He could feel broken glass that had come from his phone crunch in his pocket as he carefully felt around for his keys. As he placed them into the lock, he noticed something else that was familiar, but not in the comforting sense, taped to his door.

He closed his eyes and stood still with his paw on the half-inserted key. He waited for a few moments to see if his head would become any clearer, or if any more of his mental defenses could be repaired, or if possibly reality itself would somehow transform around him. Fairly certain that none of those things had happened, he opened his eyes back up and removed his paw from the key to retrieve the red slip of paper affixed to his door.

He unfolded it and read it as detachedly as he could.

 _NOTICE OF EVICTION_

 _TO TENANT: Nicholas Piberius Wilde_

 _YOU ARE HEREBY NOTIFIED TO VACATE THE PREMISES WITHIN FIVE (5) DAYS FROM THE DELIVERY OF THIS NOTICE._

 _YOUR LEASE WAS_ _ **TERMINATED**_ _WHEN YOU VIOLATED ARTICLE 10, SECTION B OF THE LEASE AGREEMENT BY ILLEGALLY SUBLETTING OR OTHERWISE HARBORING ADDITIONAL AND UNAPPROVED OCCUPANTS WITHIN THIS DWELLING._

 _FAILURE TO VACATE THE PREMISES WITHIN THE GIVEN TIME PERIOD WILL RESULT IN THE FORCIBLE EJECTION OF YOU AND ANY PROPERTY THEREIN FROM THIS RESIDENCE._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Victor Pruitt, Property Manager_

Nick refolded the slip of paper and stuck it back on the door where he'd found it, without a single emotion concerning it sticking to him. With only one defense readily available, his mind completely voided itself of any thought at all.

Resuming unlocking his door, he opened it, and stepped inside. Not caring to check on the state of the apartment, or take census of its inhabitants, he walked directly to his room and locked the door. Popping the top on his little orange bottle, he swallowed one of the pills without water, then flopped on his bed and passed out.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

This is another very old chapter that has been outlined and planned since nearly the beginning and it is one that I have been eagerly waiting to write for several months now. Some of the dialogue for this was written back in September, and there are some foreshadowings of it at the beginning of the chapter, 'Free From Fear'. Also, at almost 12500 words, this is not only the longest single chapter I've ever written (even longer than my first one-off story, 'Good Cops Like You') it also officially throws 'Three Months a Fox' well over the 100,000 word count! So thank you for sticking with me this long, and here is to the next 100,000 words!

Canon Check: In some of the deleted Collar AU footage, Nick is at a clinic getting his neck examined. In the original script, this was after he'd been beaten up by some prey. Like the collars (I mean _bands_ ) themselves, this is a little bit of that alternate universe leaking into this one.

Fox Fact: Foxes can actually bite pretty hard, and rank high on the Bite Force Quotient index, which compares bite force relative to body mass.

Riot Rifles: You all thought I had Wolford and Grizzolli mowing down rams in cold blood, didn't you? Well the design for those are based on some actual real world ammo technology that can adapt almost any conventional gun to fire non-lethal pepper, rubber, or ink based projectiles (they are still pretty dangerous when used improperly though). Sometimes red fluid is used so that the target thinks that they may actually have been shoot, thus increasing their panic. Most non-lethal projectiles are much more similar to actual paintball technology, with the type I described here being much less uncommon. From the canon that we have, Zootopia defaults to non-lethals when used on civilians, so I thought that the tranq-paint rounds would be a logical path for their R&D to take. Also, these are essentially the opposite of Nighthowler pellets, leading one to believe that the NH gun technology was _borrowed_ from existing law enforcement tech.

'filthy murder like you': This is a negative play on 'good cops like you', which if you don't know what that is in reference to by now, I can't help you… Also, Wolford helping out Nick is some foreshadow to his helping Nick out a couple years from now during the events of _Good Cops Like You_.

Red Pelt: reference to the chapter 'Red Pelt' where we learn the terms origin, and its significance to the history of foxes after the savage era.

Tramadol: A very strong opioid that is used for post-operative pain management in canines. It takes about an hour to kick in, but it lasts longer than morphine and can be taken orally. It's safer than Fentanyl as well (which would probably come as a transdermal patch). Thank you eng050599 for coming up with this prescription!

So much thanks to eng050599 and fatescanner for helping edit this! Each of your insights are highly valued and are intrinsic parts of what makes this story what it is. I can't thank you enough!

If you have not checked out eng050599's story 'Lost Causes and Broken Dreams' please do so! It is a very realistic and dramatic look at some of the medical problems that would logically arise in a world with multiple sentient species, and it is written in a way that would be impossible to accomplish without his real-world talent and expertise.


	21. The Little Dutch Boy

Note:

Hello readers! As always, thank you to everyone that has stuck with me this far, and thank you to fatescanner for helping edit this and previous chapters.

In a rare pre-chapter note, I wanted to inform you that this chapter is a little different. It's been my goal since the beginning to take a detailed look at not just what Nick has been doing, but also how the rest of the various facets of the city were affected during the crisis.

This chapter focuses on one such area, but it is also on a topic to which I am not as well versed. So, to continue my commitment to building the most realistic, detailed, and complete account of the three months to which this story is named after, I called in some help.

eng050599 has been with me since the beginning of this adventure, and I have been continually thankful for his insight and editing assistance throughout. His personal life makes him eminently qualified to write on this topic, so rather than merely being someone to consult with, he was kind enough to guest write this entire chapter for me. His unique style, expert knowledge base, and a light crossover reference to his own fic, _Lost Causes & Broken Dreams_, makes this an excellent addition to the 3MaF universe!

Thank you for writing this eng050599! It has been a real pleasure collaborating with you throughout this processes!

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

…

Day 39

…

[nature com/ng/journal/vaop/ncurrent/full/ng/162352-62]

 **Nature Genomics 162(3)52-62**

 **No Genetic Basis for Instinctual Recidivism: A Multi-Species Comparative Genomic Analysis of "Savage" Mammals**

Jacobson AG1*, Widelhorn DT1,2, Hawthorne DA2, Stoat FS2, Grazemore PR2, Rutter AJ3 and O'Hera GG1,3

1\. Zootopia University, Department of Biology, Savannah Central, ZU

2\. Honeywell Genetic Counselling Centre, Savannah Central, ZU

3\. Zootopia Public Health Labs, ZFB Baden, Meadowlands, ZU

* Corresponding Author: jacobag zoou. za

 **Abstract:**

The rise in incidents of instinctual recidivism in a broad range of mammals represents a major public health concern. Whole genome _de novo_ and reference assemblies were conducted on 97 subjects from 27 species who exhibited regression to a feral state, as well as 10 unaffected volunteers. The results of these assemblies were annotated _in silico_ and compared within and between taxonomic groups, using the genetic information in the Honeywell Genomic Database as an unaffected control for species not represented in the volunteer population. No significant variance in Clusters of Orthologous Groups (COGs), gene number, or overall chromatin structure was observed in the experimental population. Genome Wide Association Study (GWAS) analysis identified between 69,000 to 134,000 Single Nucleotide Polymorphisms (SNPs) per species that varied within or between taxonomic groups, providing an overall genome coverage of between 1.3cM and 5.4cM across all individuals. No significant linkage was found to be associated with the observed intellectual decline in any tested species. Additional transcriptome analysis of grey matter from the frontal lobes of 2 feral subjects who were deceased, along with matching control samples from the Zootopia University tissue library showed significant differences in the levels of 47 genes involved in neurotransmitter and neuromodulator reception in afflicted mammals. Promoter analysis of these genes was conducted across all species in the Honeywell Genomic Database, with no significant variance detected in any mammalian species regardless of taxonomic group. Based on these findings, a genetic component to instinctual recidivism was not found using a comparative genomic approach, and environmental or chemical triggers leading to altered neurotransmitter and neuromodulator receptor expression should be considered for future studies.

...

A harsh buzzing slowly invaded his consciousness, and drug him from the depths of an exhausted, and dreamless sleep. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew that the respite hadn't been nearly long enough. As he rolled over onto his side, his body made contact with something soft but unyielding; contact with reality drew back the memory of where he was, and what the buzzing could only mean.

A sense of dread and urgency filled him as his eyes snapped open, and the dim staff lounge came into focus. Sitting up from the corner of a couch that he'd managed to claim a few hours ago, he silenced his phone quickly, so as not to disturb the rest of the sleeping staff. All around the room doctors, nurses and techs had claimed every possible surface in a desperate bid to get some rest before the next wave of patients arrived.

Squinting at the harsh glare of his phone in the low light of the room, he sighed as his fears were confirmed.

[Dr. Caldwell to OR 7 in 15min. Savage mammal victim. Patient details forwarded via email.]

The text message was succinct, and the fact that the patient was going directly to the OR suggested that it was going to be a bad one. Checking the time displayed at the top of his phone, the ferret frowned in realization that he had only been off the floor for about three hours so far, and that it should have been at least another three before the schedule dictated that he be back on it again.

' _What the fuck...'_ he thought. _'Ron, Gail and Brian should all be on duty right now.'_

He shook his head. Those _should-be's_ were increasingly becoming a rarity as the savage mammal situation continued to spiral further out of control. That _situation_ was the whole reason he was on call tonight... It was the whole reason why _every_ mammal on staff at Zootopia General was on call... Every doctor, nurse, lab tech and even janitor was on call for every hour of the day, and on every day of the week, and even then it still wasn't enough. No director had stated it officially yet, but there was every reason to believe that the marathon schedule would persist for as long as the crisis continued, and with not a shred of progress being made on figuring out how to stop it, there was not a single reason to believe that it ever would.

 _It_ had started just over a month ago, and already there had been more than six-hundred casualties related to the attacks; outside of war, it was the worst disaster Zootopia had ever seen. Well over two-hundred of those had been critical, life threatening injuries, and despite the best efforts of himself and the other physicians, not all of the victims could be saved...

He'd already lost one mammal today…or was it yesterday? Little details like the date had ceased to have meaning weeks ago. All that mattered were the patients, but all too often, there was little he or anyone else could do. In the most recent case, a rabbit had been mauled by a savage cougar right in downtown Savannah Central. They had barely managed to get her onto a gurney when her heart had simply given out. At the time, he'd guessed that she'd already lost half of her total blood volume, and there was literally nothing that could have been done, but still he had tried. What else was he to do?

For over thirty minutes he and the nurses had battled to get her heart restarted, even going so far as to cut open her chest and attempting to manually massage the failed organ before trying to shock life back to it. It was only when he had felt a paw on his shoulder and looked back to see one of his colleagues shake her head that his singular focus had broke, and he finally had no choice but to call it.

He shook his head as he brought himself back to the present, and a bleak realization came to him: _'If there's one advantage to being dead-on-your-feet exhausted, it's that I don't have to worry about seeing her family in my dreams.'_

It was an indivisible part of the job, of course, but it never got any easier. Telling her husband that he'd lost his wife was bad enough, and the mammal's grief had almost broken through his professional façade, but it was the kits that had completely shattered him. None of them had been old enough to understand that their mother was never coming back.

' _Would someone have to tell Debbie that I'm not coming home? Would someone have to tell me that…'_ He cut off the thought with a snarl as he walked quietly over to the nest of power cables where he and the other staff had taken to recharging the various devices that were as drained as their owners were. He retrieved his tablet and began reviewing the incoming patient's details as he moved to exit the lounge.

His family was safe, and he knew that in his heart. To date the outlying counties, and even the other primary cities, had been utterly untouched by the savagery that was plaguing Zootopia. He had been an emergency transfer from Deerborn County, where he had lived his entire life, save for his university years. As an agricultural region almost a hundred miles away from the big city, the most interestingcases that had come through his door back then were only the occasional farming accidents, or the results of a brawl after a local high school hoofball game.

That had all changed about twenty days ago. _'Was it really that long ago?'_ he thought to himself as he continued to traverse the maze of sleeping staff on his way to the door.

He could have refused the transfer, of course, but neither he, nor any of the other recruited physicians had done so. They had left Deerborn Hospital with little more than a skeleton staff, but everyone knew that it was Zootopia that needed their skills, and for the past three weeks they hadn't stopped using them once.

Just as he reached the door to the hall, a voice behind him called out in a groggy whisper, "Another one, Martin?"

Looking behind him, he saw that his efforts to be stealthy hadn't been entirely successful. The amber eyes of a similarly dressed tigress seemed to glow in the darkness, although they had lost some of the brightness that they had possessed when he'd first met Dr. Emilia Hart. Unlike him, she was one of the regular staff at the hospital, but her skills as an oncologist had been set aside since the crisis began.

"'Fraid so, Emmy. Just one for now, but more might be en-route." He gave a weary smile to the tigress. _'More are always en-route,'_ he thought. "If they haven't buzzed you yet, you might be in the clear. Try and get some more sleep."

She nodded and returned her head to the small table she had managed to claim. Officially, they were only supposed to be on shift for ten to sixteen hours a day, but unofficially, standard protocol had been abandoned weeks ago and these days it wasn't uncommon for them to work for twenty-four hours straight, moving from one patient to the next with no break in between. All the staff just collapsed where and when they could.

It wasn't just the mammals going savage causing the influx of patients; the whole city was a powder keg that was already in the process of going off. Not that he had seen any of it himself. He had barely managed to take a step outside the hospital since he'd arrived, but the number of patients injured at the increasingly violent protests far outstripped the tally, and sometimes even the severity, of the actual savage victims.

' _And then there are the vigilante victims,'_ he thought glumly. Those had only started coming in over the past week or so. Universally they had been predators who had been beaten, tazed, or stabbed to death's door. He and the other staff had fought to drag those mammals back from the threshold, but they hadn't been able to save them all.

Passing by one of the supply rooms, he nodded his head towards the armed ZNG soldier standing guard outside of it. It was certainly an oddity to have armed soldiers in what was theoretically a civilian hospital, but the Zootopian National Guard had been called up all over the city during the past week to secure key infrastructure, hospitals included. Ostensibly, they were present to deal with any potential savage reversions occurring within the building, but unlike the ZPD, these soldiers weren't armed with less-than-lethal options.

Slug-throwers were almost unheard of in Zootopia, but they were still used during wartime, as well as in the more rural areas, where birds of prey were still a threat to smaller mammals. The thought of using one against a fellow mammal was very much a foreign concept to Martin, but the ZI-51 automatic rifle hanging from the wolf's chest was testament to the severity of the situation. Martin had never had to treat a gunshot wound throughout his entire career, and he silently hoped that he would never have to.

Even more silently, he suspected that the soldiers here also hoped to never inflict one. They may have been trained to kill, but they were still mammals, and it was clear that they genuinely wanted to help. This wolf, one Corporal John McLaughlin, hadn't hesitated to step in a few days ago to help administer first aid to patients when the hospital had been inundated by the aftermath of a riot in Savannah Central. The staff had been swamped by over thirty casualties arriving within minutes of each other, and John had moved from gurney to gurney, applying pressure, dressings, and even performing CPR in one instance until the proper medical staff could take over. He had never moved far from his post, though. Seeing him at the time, it had struck Martin as utterly incongruous that this mammal, who was fighting to keep others alive, would ever _want_ to have to kill another, but fate rarely catered to the wants of individuals, and in times like these, _wants_ were luxuries rarely granted.

Fortunately for everyone, the effective role of the stationed soldiers was to safeguard the valuable medical supplies that were being rushed in from all over the country to keep Zootopia's medical network stable during the crisis. It was all too often that these supplies became hot commodities on the black market, and with the traditional economy continuing its cascade into oblivion, word was that even the smallest doses were fetching hundreds on the street. From the obvious choices, like the various narcotic painkillers, to the simplest antibiotics; all of it was quickly approaching disastrously low levels. The government was spending heavily to keep these constraints supplied, and these soldiers represented a highly visible and potentially lethal deterrent to any mammals with the nefarious aspiration to disrupt or take advantage of the situation.

Filing those thoughts away, he glanced at the details of the incoming patient on his tablet while he waited in line for the elevator behind a family of white-tailed deer. Most likely they were on their way to visit a friend or relative, but he couldn't help but notice that the father was warily glaring at him, and had even moved to interposition himself between his fawns and the much smaller physician.

Like most of the staff, Martin had crashed in the first floor lounge. It was closest to the ER, which was where his talents were generally required, but he'd need to head up a few floors to get to the assigned operating room and scrub in.

He scrolled through what information he had on the incoming patient:

38 year-old female coyote attacked in Tundra Town by a snow leopard

Extensive bite wounds to the head, face, and neck with additional claw wounds to the legs and abdomen

Compound fracture of the left radius and ulna

Probable fracture of the right femur

He paused briefly. _'This seems familiar. Isn't this the case I dealt with last week?'_ he thought. A quick look at the name of the victim, Wendy Grey, didn't match any previous cases he recognized. He sighed in realization that there had simply been so many similar cases over the past weeks that it was inevitable that they would start to blur together into a single chaotic continuum. He wasn't so far gone that he had forgotten the outcome of the previous coyote he'd treated, though.

 _'I managed to save her, at least. Maybe lightning will strike twice,'_ he thought as he considered the probable surgical priorities based on the current list of injuries.

Based on the previous victims, the bite wounds to the neck would need to be top priority, followed by the claw wounds to the abdomen. If the attacker had managed to puncture the jugular vein or carotid artery, he would need to move quickly if there was to be any hope at all.

His medical training had barely even brushed over bite wounds, as outside of a battlefield or a single nip during a brawl, it just wasn't something commonly seen. Back in Deerborn, he had maybe treated a serious bite wound once in the last decade. Here, however, he and every other physician had been subjected to a crash course on the matter, and he had discovered that there was at least some advantage to being from a rural area.

Although they didn't see it too often, the puncture wounds from farm accidents were similar in many ways to the type of tissue damage that was caused by feline and canine bite wounds. Additionally, when he had first glimpsed the wounds caused by claws, he had been struck by how similar the damage was to mammals that had been injured by threshers out in the field. While those cases generally inflicted damage that was more severe than what one mammal could inflict on another, it was much more disconcerting to know that another sentient being had tried to come even close in the first place.

It was one instance where he had been able to help develop the overall treatment protocols that were now being used by hospitals all over Zootopia.

 _'How long is this elevator going to be?'_ he seethed internally, but he could only give a frustrated sigh and continue to read through what information the EMTs had provided.

Blood Type: CEA-1.1-, field transfusion of Hemopure blood substitute, 2 units

"Fuck!" he cursed quietly. "She just has to be negative."

In any other situation, having a canine universal donor would have been a gift from the Makers themselves. Their blood could be used in almost any _Canis_ species without fear of rejection. When the tables were turned however, it became a much bleaker situation. This mammal could only accept CEA-1.1- blood, and the hospital was nearing critical levels for it, as well as whole blood for almost _every_ species in Zootopia.

The public had responded to the crisis, thankfully, and donation drives were going on all over the city, as well as in the outlying regions. But even with refrigerated trucks arriving almost hourly, they were still barely keeping up with the demand. They needed as much of the universal blood types as they could get their paws on for _all_ the species in Zootopia, but for some species, those individuals were a distinct rarity. In the case of the _Canidae_ family, there were over thirteen different blood types, and out of all of them, only CEA1.1- could be universally accepted by all _Canidae_. For all the other blood types, which made up the majority of donations, they could only be used with mammals of the same blood type. The situation was even worse for the feline species. There were only three blood groups to deal with, but no universal donors to speak of.

...And equines were an utter nightmare, with over four-hundred _thousand_ possible antigen combinations. Rapid field kits had made deciphering this mess a possibility, but unless you were very lucky, finding a perfect match was unlikely unless a parent or sibling was present. While it was possible to remove those antigens from the red blood cells, the process took time...time that they didn't have in emergencies. For them, blood substitutes were the only option in the field, and the medical network strived to keep a wide variety of blood on paw...and be ready at a moment's notice to send out whatever type a hospital or clinic needed, whenever they needed it.

Fortunately, this was another area where the ZNG had really shined, as they had taken over the logistical challenges of moving all medical supplies around the city. Their assistance in keeping roads and ports clear, as well as prioritizing _anything_ healthcare related had already saved countless lives. Having armed guards also made the possibility of shipments being hijacked practically non-existent. While the ZNG was only positioned in places like hospitals and government buildings currently, with the state of emergency having been officially declared, they had orders to treat looters... _severely_.

A chime signaled that the elevator had finally arrived, and Martin moved to step inside. However, he was stopped when a not-so-gentle hoof pressed into his chest. Looking up, he saw that the buck had ushered his family into the car and now stood to block the ferret's path.

"You can take the next one," he said simply.

Martin looked over his shoulder, and saw that Corporal McLaughlin had seen what was going on, and had already started towards them.

Looking back to the deer, Martin roughly pushed the hoof away from him before speaking. "I don't think so. What's going to happen is that I'm getting on this elevator, and then I'm going to go save the life of a mammal who is due to arrive in any minute. Now, either you can ride with me, or that nice soldier there is going to toss you and your family out on your collective asses." He motioned with his head in the direction of the approaching wolf.

"You can't talk to me that way!" the deer sputtered, while Martin calmly walked past him. "I'll have you fired for this, you filthy pred!"

Martin gave a bark of laughter at the threat, before tapping his keycard onto the sensor panel. The act allowed him to override the floor selection of the deer and his family, and he tapped the button for the fifth floor. "Good luck with that. Last I saw, you can find the head physician passed out in the lounge just down the hall. Of course, he is just another _'filthy pred',_ so you're probably not going to make much headway."

Motioning with his paws, he continued, "Either get in, or get out. I don't fucking care which."

The corporal arrived, and placed a firm paw on the deer's shoulder, but looked to Martin. "Is there a problem, Dr. Caldwell?"

The ferret crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the deer before replying. "I think that's up to this gentlemammal, Corporal. I've got to get up to the OR, and I don't care if he stays or goes, just so long as I get where I'm needed."

John looked down at the deer in his paw. "Sir, I need you to either step away or move into the elevator. The doc has places to be, and I'd prefer to have a day that is quiet, and doesn't involve physically removing you from the premises."

A toothy grin spread across the larger mammal's face, belying his words and daring the deer to try something. The rise in anti-predator sentiment had not gone unnoticed by the ZNG, and even some of its members had been targeted by the angry public...those instances had not worked out well for the aggressors. The ZNG and the ZAF looked after their own, and an attack on one was an attack on all. To their credit, they never pushed things too far over the line, but they made damn sure to finish anything that another mammal had started.

"What's it gonna be?" he asked, looking the deer directly in the eyes. Martin almost laughed at the display of dominance, but he had to give the wolf credit, it was working.

The deer looked nervously from the wolf to the ferret before submissively bowing his head and stepping into the elevator. "Uhhh, third floor, please," he stated meekly, as Martin hit the button to close the door.

Martin shook his head. "Sorry, once the override is used, it can't be changed until we get to the assigned floor. I'll punch it in for you once we get to five."

He paused momentarily. He had crossed a line with the deer, as the cervid had done with him. He was about to apologize to the deer when the other mammal started mumbling to her mate, but not so quietly that the ferret couldn't hear her.

"Why can't they at least make them wear those Tame Band things? Did you _see_ how many preds there are working here?"

"Beats me, hun," the male replied, matching her disdain for the situation, once again making a sidelong glance at Martin.

The ferret sighed and rubbed his eyes. _'This elevator needs to go faster,'_ he cursed mentally as his desire for reconciliation evaporated. The hospital was effectively an island in the middle of a raging sea, isolated from much of the social and political turmoil gripping the city, and the staff here had neither the time, nor the patience to deal with those aspects of the crisis. Trying to save the life of every mammal who came through their doors was their first, last, and only priority. _'That I've been rude to some speciest assholes doesn't really matter.'_

He should have just let the matter drop, but he was tired. Tired of dealing with an ignorant public who wanted nothing more than easy answers, when the research hadn't even figured out what the right questions were. He was tired of having to pull off the impossible day after day, only to be reviled for what he had been born as, instead of acknowledged for what he had accomplished.

Although he didn't know this deer and his family, he had an idea of who they were here to see. One of yesterday's casualties had been a teenaged white-tailed doe. She hadn't been attacked by any predator; she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught up in a protest turned riot. He had personally pinned her right humerus back together himself, and had also stitched up the lacerations that had resulted from when she had been trampled by the mob. He had even spoken with her afterwards, and knew that it was a tiger member of the ZPD who had forced back the crowds and taken her to an ambulance. That officer had even been in to check up on her earlier this morning before heading back out onto the streets for another day of dealing with problems that even Martin wasn't envious of.

 _'What species we are shouldn't matter, it's our actions that define us,'_ he thought to himself, but that apparently didn't matter to her father. All he saw was a potentially savage predator. Something to be feared. Something to be hated.

Even though he should, the ferret was just too damn tired to let yet another insult slide.

"Why don't we wear them?" he posited and looked directly at the doe, raising a single digit into the air. "One, until Talon Industries responds to the ZMA's request for more information about the conditions under which the collars activate, they are actively discouraging _any_ physician from wearing them while on duty. Quite simply, the early data says that they are triggered by high levels of stress...and in case you haven't noticed, _every_ mammal here is skating on the edge, twenty-four seven! All we need is for one of these Tame Bands to decide that a physician's gone savage, when in fact they're just at the point of exhaustion from trying to resuscitate a patient." He held up a second digit. "And two: We can't find any, even if we weren't concerned about them going off at the worst possible time."

The chime from the door announced that he was about to get a reprieve from the situation, and as he had promised, he tapped his keycard on the sensor and hit the button for the third floor. As the doors started to open, he didn't look back at the family, but spoke over his shoulder as he exited the elevator. "As for why there are so many predator species working here: Can you do this?" He then proceeded to move his right paw through a complex series of patterns, touching his digits to each other in every combination possible, all in less than a second. The routine was a holdover from the piano lessons of his youth, but he still used them as a warm-up prior to surgery.

Turning on his heel, he faced the family, and his voice was utterly serious. He made sure to look each of the adult mammals in the eye as the elevator doors started to close. "Predator species make up almost two-thirds of the surgeons in Zootopia, and about thirty percent of the physicians and nurses overall. Hooves and microsurgery don't tend to mesh well together. Have a nice day, and I hope that Sam's doing well. Let her know that I'll be in to check on her this afternoon!"

He had to smile at the shocked expression on their faces as the doors closed, but he gave himself a shake and tried to dispel the unproductive thoughts from his mind.

Over the past three weeks, he had become all too familiar with this floor. As with the rest of the hospital, the incessant humming of the fluorescent lights and the smell of air thick with disinfectants faded unnoticed into the background of his awareness.

The support staff was just as stretched in keeping the ORs clean, as the physicians were in keeping them in near continual use throughout the day. Normally, there was enough time between patients to ensure that every square micrometer of the room was completely scrubbed down, but now the most that they could manage was to just sterilize the tools that they'd need, and what surfaces they could, and just hope for the best.

Passing by the nurse's desk, he noticed that OR-7 was supposed to be in the paws of Dr. Brian Codsworth. The otter was another one of the regular staff at the hospital, and as such had been here right from the start. The fact that he was a trauma surgeon meant that he had been one of the most overworked mammals at the hospital during the last few weeks, and Martin didn't like the implications of being called in to replace him.

He made his way to the prep room for his assigned OR, and was pleased to see that the nurses were already hard at work getting everything prepared for the arrival of their patient. A male wolf was at the scrub sink working a soap-covered brush roughly over his paws and arms. Martin grabbed a hood and muzzle mask, and slipped them over his head and face before joining him at the sink, kicking a switch at its base to extend a small step to help him reach the required height.

"Any idea what happened to Dr. Codsworth, Andy?" he asked while he tore open the single-use brush and began working it over his claws and paws.

Dr. Andrew Gilbert was a first-year resident from Zootopia University. Given the scarcity of trained physicians, even the senior students were being called upon to scrub in, even though they weren't technically licensed yet. The reality was that none of the residents should have been expected to take on these burdens. Residencies were hard enough on their own; asking these young physicians to perform tasks that were normally handled by specialists was unheard of, and spoke directly to the direness of the situation that the city was facing.

"He just collapsed, Dr. Caldwell," the wolf replied tiredly. "We had just finished scrubbing in and were getting gowned up, when he fainted. I just got back from carrying him to one of the recovery rooms. Nurse Perry had a hunch and checked his blood sugar level...it was forty..."

Martin nodded his head in understanding. They were all dead on their feet. "Brian would have been going for thirty hours straight by this point, Andy, and unless I missed my guess, he hadn't stopped that entire time." He looked over to the gloomy wolf and reached out with an elbow to lightly poke the other mammal in the ribs. "He'll be fine."

He paused momentarily, as this was still a teachable moment. "Andy, if it happens again, let one of the nurses handle it. If the patient had arrived before I got here, there would have been no physician on paw. I know that this isn't how things were supposed to go, but you are a doctor...well, the larval stage of one, at least."

The wolf gave a laugh at the comment but nodded his head. "I understand, Dr. Caldwell...and I actually realized that just after I caught Dr. Codsworth and contaminated myself." He shrugged and continued to scrub his arms before running them under the water to rinse the soap from them. "By that point the damage had been done, and I didn't want another mammal to have to scrub in again."

Martin thought about the situation before replying as he also finished scrubbing his paws and arms. "Your heart was in the right place, but until another physician arrives, you're in charge of the OR." He motioned with his head into the operating room proper as the two mammals backed into the room. "Even though Nurse Hooper here is more experienced than the two of us combined, and could probably handle this patient all by herself blindfolded, it's our duty to be there for the patient first."

He took the sterile towel from the older rabbit who clicked her tongue at the physician. "I already gave Dr. Gilbert a good talking-to when he screwed up initially," she said, shaking her head dramatically as Martin moved to the UV fur dryer mounted on the wall to wick away the final dregs of moisture from his fur. "I don't know what they're teaching in med school these days, but even if a bomb goes off you keep yourself sterile until you can figure out what's happening."

Martin had to laugh at the rabbit's tone. Charlotte was one of the head surgical nurses, as well as being a nurse practitioner...and the unofficial wrath of the Makers towards any mammal in her care. "There are some lessons that are best learnt in the field, Nurse Hooper," he said as he stepped into the surgical gown held up by the doe, and after putting on two layers of gloves, he performed the final tie on the gown himself. "Somehow I think the lesson today will be far easier to remember for Dr. Gilbert than a simple bullet point during a lecture."

"He better remember," she added menacingly as she stood on a step stool to help the much larger wolf finish donning his own gown and gloves.

If it was possible for a wolf to shrink any further under the gaze of another mammal, Martin hadn't seen it. Looking over to the rest of the team, he could see that they were all prepared. In addition to Dr. Gilbert and Nurse Hooper, he was fortunate to have another two nurses present. Both Kevin Williams and Jenine Heath were experienced ER nurses, and the antelope and raccoon would be instrumental in dealing with some of the trauma that would be coming through the door any minute.

Nurse Heath was checking the monitor mounted on the wall of the surgical suite. Martin could see that some additional patient details had been added. "Do we have a better idea of the injuries that she's suffered?" he asked as he checked over the location of the various pieces of equipment. He was glad to see the tray of orthopedic surgical tools were ready for use. They might seem primitive; sometimes consisting of little more than a fancy-looking chrome hammer or a drill bit, but if they needed to pin the forearm bones or the suspected femur break in place, they would be essential.

"Nothing since the last update, which could be either good or bad," Jenine reported. She shrugged, and began checking over the bags of various IV fluids that they would likely require. "Either nothing's changed, and she may even be stable, or she's crashing and they don't have time to send us an update." Checking on the ETA listed in the corner of the monitor, she sighed. "Either way, they'll be here in two minutes, at most."

Martin nodded. "Okay everyone, we know that there's severe puncture trauma to the face and neck, and that's going to be our top priority. We'll need to check for any damage to the major vessels before we do anything else. If there are arterial bleeds, clamp them off unless they are utterly vital and we'll assess the situation as it goes." He looked over at the raccoon before continuing, "Jenine, please tell me we have CEA-1.1 negative blood for this one?"

She pointed to a cooler resting in the corner. "I snagged three units, but that's all we're going to have for now."

Andy gave a low growl. "That's it? She's already had two units of blood substitute. That stuff's fine in a pinch, but she's going to need real blood." The wolf looked over to Martin. "If we need it, I'm CEA-1.1 neg. I already donated this week, but if push comes to shove, I've got a lot more of it in me than she does."

Nodding his head, Martin had a smile on his muzzle at the young doctor's offer. He was right, an average wolf generally had between eight and twelve units of blood in them, while coyotes only had between five and eight. "Let's hope we don't need to go that far, Andy. Normally, we doctors only pour our hearts and souls into our work, but if necessary, we'll leave you enough to at least make it to the lounge."

The comment drew chuckles from the assembled mammals, but they all understood that such actions may well be required. Martin was certain that almost every one of them had donated blood within the past two weeks, and would do so again as soon as policy allowed or the situation demanded. Bringing himself back to the present, he continued, "Aside from the facial trauma, our next concern will be checking for GI perforation. If those claw wounds are as bad as I think they are, we'll need to go in and resect the intestines. If that's the case, infection is almost a certainty." Looking over to Nurse Hooper he pointed to the IV fluids already prepared. "Did you have anything like piperacillin-tazobactam set up?"

The nurse nodded and pointed to one of the small bags. "Ertapenem and Moxifloxacin are ready to go."

"That should do," Martin replied. The antibiotics would be needed to stave off the infection that was almost a certainty if the bowels had been compromised. The bacteria-rich contents would rapidly infect the abdominal cavity, and without quick treatment, death would soon follow. It would be an agonizing way to die, and this coyote wouldn't be forced to face it if he had anything to say about it.

Movement from the prep room drew his attention, and he gave a sigh of relief as he saw that the long-eared form of Dr. Beth Lavson scrubbing in. "Well, that's a relief," he said out loud. The hare was a colleague from Deerborn General, and an anesthesiologist by training. Given the number of repairs that were going to be required here, keeping the patient sedated would be a blessing. The resetting of the broken forearm alone was going to be agonizing for the poor coyote.

A chime from the monitor drew the attention of all the mammals in the room. "The helicopter's just landed," Charlotte said, her eyes checking over every element of the theater. "They'll be down in two minutes at most." She then moved to help Dr. Lavson get gowned up, and positioned at the head of the operating table.

"Okay everyone, remember to keep clear of the EMTs and nurses when they come in. They're not sterile, so let them move the patient to the table, but avoid contact until they're out of the room. This isn't ideal, but we don't have time for normal procedures," Martin said as he subconsciously started moving his paws through their piano warm-up routine as he waited. "If you see anything off, don't hesitate, call it out." Looking over to Andy, he continued, "I want you to focus on the abdominal and leg wounds. Assess the damage, and work to clean up what you can. Don't try to resect the tissue until I'm with you."

Looking to Beth he could see that she was as exhausted as he was, but that wouldn't slow either of them down. "Glad you could make it, Beth. Once we get her stabilized, I'll leave it up to you to determine when you start sedation. Just let me know so we don't have her waking up at a bad time."

The hare nodded her head in understanding, as they and the rest of the team stood quietly and waited for the inevitable.

Their wait wasn't a long one, and without pause, a gurney was pushed into the OR by a group of four mammals. Two of them, an oryx and jaguar, were dressed in flight suits and still wearing their helmets. The remaining two mammals, a mink and an arctic wolf, were familiar to Martin, and were part of the ER nursing staff.

Without pausing, the oryx began rapidly summarizing the patient's condition. "Female, coyote, thirty-eight years old, pulse one-twenty, BP ninety over sixty. Was found unconscious with multiple bite and claw wounds to the face, abdomen and legs. Bleeding is under control after QuikClot, and two units of Hemopure were administered in the field. Compound fracture of the left forearm, and possible fracture of the ribs and right femur."

The team quickly came alongside the operating table and rapidly transferred the patient to its surface before abruptly backing out of the room. "Good luck; there's probably more incoming," the jaguar flight paramedic said dourly before leaving.

Taking his first look at the patient, Martin couldn't hide the grimace on his face, even behind his mask. The damage to the coyote's face was extreme, with entire strips of flesh peeled back from the cranium and muzzle. In several places, the white gleam of bone could be seen through the mangled tissue, and even when they were done here today, this mammal would require extensive reconstructive surgery to even begin to repair the damage that had been inflicted.

He didn't need to look at the abdominal wounds to know that the intestine had been perforated; the foul smell of the open bowel was plainly obvious to every mammal in the room, and he wrinkled his nose at the familiar, putrid scent.

Two spurs of bone protruded from the coyote's left forearm, which had been packed with gauze and immobilized in a splint that was already being cut off by Nurse Hooper.

The damage was bad, but the ferret was relieved to see that the patient, although unconscious, was breathing on her own, and that there was no obvious arterial bleeding from the wounds to the throat.

Looking over the mangled form in front of him, he couldn't help but be taken aback at the damage that one mammal could do to another. He had seen the results of assaults prior to this, every physician had as a matter of their training, but this...this was different. This wasn't the result of two _intelligent_ mammals getting into a heated altercation.

 _'She was mauled by...by an animal!'_ The thought had been becoming ever more prominent in his mind over the past three weeks. He didn't know if it was just the number of mammals that he'd seen, or the exhaustion that had become the entirety of his existence, but at some point the savage mammals had ceased to be just mammals afflicted with some disease or condition; they were beasts, they were _savages_.

He didn't know why this was happening. The events were so random, so spread out, and affecting such a wide swath of species that they defied all epidemiological reason. The thought that this might be the new _normal_ was terrifying, but he pushed the feeling aside.

 _'Figuring out why this is happening is way above my pay grade, and I have more important things to worry about right now,'_ he chastised himself mentally. _'It doesn't matter if it keeps happening or not, it doesn't matter how many there were, or how many there will be, this is the one that is my focus right now.'_

He took a deep breath and narrowed his concentration to the mess of raw meat in front of him. For now, he couldn't think of her as another mammal, but he mentally made her a promise before he closed off the part of himself that could feel: _'I am going to save you!'_

With a steady voice, he reached out with an even steadier paw as he began the process of dragging this mammal back from death's door. "Forceps!"

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

 **End Notes:**

Hello everyone! This is eng050599 and if you've read any of my work, you know that I try to include some explanations for the various scientific or cultural elements that are included in anything I write, and this chapter is no exception.

When WildeNick asked me to contribute this chapter, I began by thinking about the overall themes that needed to be covered. He provided an outline of what he wanted to be included in the chapter, but the overall tone was to show how the medical community was being affected by the crisis. While I was planning, I remembered the old story of the Little Dutch Boy.

For those who aren't aware of it, this is a very old tale, possibly dating back to the 16th century (or even the 8th century BCE if parallels between it and the Aruni Upanishad are real). In summary, a little Dutch boy was walking home from school one evening when he heard the sound of water falling. Tracing down the source of the noise, he saw that one of the dikes had sprung a leak. Knowing that this leak could quickly spread and cause the dike to fail, possibly destroying his village, he dropped his books and plugged the leak with his hand.

Realizing that he could not move, the boy cried out for help, but no one came. As night fell, and the temperature dropped, he resolutely held his ground, keeping the leak from growing. He knew that his parents would be worried about him, but for their safety and everyone else's he stayed firm.

He stayed there all night, keeping the leak plugged, and it was only when the sun rose that a group of workers noticed the boy, who was now fighting to stay awake. Quickly realizing the situation, the workers gathered help, and the leak was plugged. The boy was hailed as a hero and rightly so. When circumstances called upon him, he stepped up and did what was right, regardless of the personal hardship.

...So why use that story as inspiration? When tragedy occurs, I'm of the opinion that there are two kinds of people: those who step back and those who step up. Our first responders are almost universally in the latter group. When so many others flee from a crisis, they are the ones who instead run towards it. They put their safety, their health, and even their lives on the line, and it's something that we tend to take for granted.

Those who have been following Three Months a Fox have seen how the situation has degraded for predators, but also for prey. Throughout it all, the first responders have been stressed to the breaking point, and I wanted to show how, even at this point; when confronted by physical and mental exhaustion, They. Do. Not. Stop! Each and every one of them are Little Dutch Boys, plugging the leak and holding back the tide until either the leak is fixed, or they are washed away by the flood.

Just something to consider.

Now, any of my readers probably know what comes next: **Science Time!** ...well an abbreviated version at least. This is where I take a little time and go into some of the detail underlying the terminology or concepts that are introduced in the chapter. This time around, there isn't as much as when I'm writing Lost Causes and Broken Dreams, but there are still some details to flesh out.

 **CEA (Canidae Erythrocyte Antigen):** This is actually based on our DEA (Dog Erythrocyte Antigen) blood grouping for dogs. In canines, there have been over 13 blood groups identified, but the major antigens (a foreign substance that produces an immune response) are from DEA-4, DEA-6 and DEA-1.1. Since DEA-4 and DEA-6 are _almost_ universal in canines (98% have both), they do not factor into transfusions. DEA-1.1 however does have a wide distribution, and canines with DEA-1.1+ types are considered as being universal recipients, much like humans with type AB+ blood. They can accept blood from any other type, but the reverse is not true. Canines that are DEA-1.1- can donate blood to any other canine, but cannot receive any type other than DEA-1.1-. This is the same as with human type O- blood.

On that note, if you haven't done so I encourage everyone to donate regardless of your blood type. It just takes a little bit of time, and it can save many lives. In Canada, there is no compensation for this (cookies and juice you can have though), but as I mentioned earlier, it's the difference between stepping back or stepping up to help.

Now I'm not a fan of the Canadian Blood Services catch-phrase, "Blood, it's in you to give." because it's inaccurate. Blood is in me to transport oxygen, nutrients, and chemical signals from one region of my body to another...but I can spare a bit of it every now and then.

 **Non-Human Transfusions:** In keeping with the blood theme, it should be noted that many mammalian species don't respond to transfusions as humans do. In humans, you naturally have antibodies against foreign blood types in your system. For example, if you have type O blood, you have antibodies specific to the A and B antigens even if you've never been exposed to them before. This isn't the case for some other mammals. Many of them do not naturally have antibodies against foreign blood types in their system, and this gives a bit of an edge to the medical practitioners in Zootopia.

I wasn't kidding about horses having over 400,000 blood types, which would create an absolute nightmare for doctors...but if it's their first transfusion, it doesn't matter what blood type they receive.

The catch? This only works ONCE!

After this point, the mammal will have antibodies against those blood types that are foreign to it, and as such care has to be taken to avoid exposing the patient to this antigen again. Failure to do so will result in a potentially fatal reaction to the blood product. As a result, it would make sense in Zootopia for physicians to try to match blood types when they can so that they still have that get out of jail free card if a more serious emergency occurs. Also it would be critical that any mammal that receives an off-type transfusion have that information on them at all times, so as to alert medical staff of the potential risk.

 **The Pred/Prey Ratio in Medicine:** This is something that I've covered in Lost Causes, but I'll make a quick summary here. When you look at this chapter, you might have noticed that the proportion of predators in the hospital is quite a bit higher than in the general population. From the film, we know that the normal Pred/Prey ratio is 1:9, but in this hospital, it's much closer to 50/50. Why the discrepancy?

Quite simply, paws.

When we look at the types of mammals who have paws, which are naturally more capable of fine movement, we see that it's basically limited to the Carnivora and Rodentia orders. Most obligate herbivores fall into the hoofed mammals (ungulates), and even with significant evolutionary pressure to develop mobility in the forelimbs, they would be at a real disadvantage relative to mammals with paws when it comes to manual dexterity. As Martin put it: "Hooves and microsurgery don't tend to mesh well."

In my canon, even toed ungulates can be physicians, but would tend to lean towards specializations that don't necessitate extremely fine motor control. These fields would normally be filled by either rodents or predators...and really most of the rodents are small mammals, with species like rabbits (or capybaras) representing the largest species in the order. Compared to the predator species, who range from small to large mammals, they are limited as to what kinds of patients they could effectively work on.

...and there are no horses in medicine in my version of Zootopia. Having only 2 or 3 opposable digits is hard enough for medicine, but having a single digit? Sorry equines, but you got the short end of the stick on this one.

Finally, some of you might be wondering what was with the blurb at the beginning of the chapter. Well, WildeNick wanted me to give an example of what a real research article from Zootopia would look like, and that paragraph is what's called an journal abstract. Basically, it's a summary of the larger research paper, and provides a Cole's Notes (Cliffs or Spark Notes for American readers) version of what was done in a study, and what the results are.

In this case, it described a comparative genomic study, trying to isolate a possible cause for the savage mammal crisis. Now of course, we know what the underlying cause is, but for the mammals of Zootopia this isn't the case. The epidemiology of the attacks would be defying all medical reasoning, and something like this would be part of the process to try and figure out what is causing the outbreak. By comparing the genomes (DNA) and transcriptomes (RNA) of the savage mammals, to unaffected members of the same species, they would hope to identify some underlying genetic reason for the regression.

By this point in the crisis, the medical and scientific community would be starting to clue into the fact that this isn't a disease or genetic condition. Something is causing mammals to go savage; either environmental or chemical, but what that could be is still an unknown. Now, of course there are certain members of the government, as well as the various scientific and medical organizations who wouldn't want this type of research to succeed, and would be working very hard to discredit this and other research being conducted.

Regardless, I'll close things off for now. If any readers have science-related questions, please feel free to send me a PM, and I'll try to get back to you as soon as possible. My research is mainly focused on comparative genomics, molecular biology, and biochemistry, but I'm more than willing to try to help out with any questions or comments that you may have. My thanks go out to WildeNick for inviting me to contribute to this chapter, and it's been a pleasure to collaborate with him on my own story as well as Three Months a Fox.

On that note, I have my usual disclaimer for those who might be interested in Lost Causes and Broken Dreams. It's not a happy story. In fact it is downright heartrending at times. It is based upon the difficulties that interspecies couples would have in trying to have children, and the anguish that would be all too common for species on the edge of compatibility. I will admit to being brought to tears several times when writing it, and I have been both cursed and praised by my readers for doing likewise to them.

It's highly technical, but I make a point to try and explain the underlying science...and it's not all tears and gloom.


	22. Lost and Found

…

Day 41

…

"No! To _your_ left!" Nick commanded exhaustedly as he and the much smaller fennec struggled to discover the very specific orientation which would allow passage of his couch through the doorway. Between Nick's reduced faculty and Finnick's reduced visibility, things in general hadn't been going well so far.

It seemed an unnecessary problem, as the fox-sized couch should easily have fit through the standard-sized door, but Nick's cynically low expectations for how even the most mundane events of his life were destined to unfold lessened his disappointment, and confirmed his belief that reality as a whole held an absolutely wicked grudge against him. The precious final painkiller that he'd taken only a few hours ago removed the rest of his ability to experience surprise, and he was left with only a slight, but pervasive frustration at his situation in general.

That _situation_ was moving day, and that pain pill was the only thing keeping him on his feet long enough to accomplish it. Technically, he wasn't really supposed to be on his feet at all, much less doing anything that involved lifting a couch, and a prescription for 'taking it easy' was scarcely something that needed to be doled out to a fox, but now that he required it, the universe had been quick to adapt circumstance to ensure that he couldn't have it.

The _circumstance_ had been eviction from his apartment of seven years. He would never actually consider it to be Finnick's fault, but in actuality, the fennec's extended stay had been the catalyst for Victor Pruitt, the rodent landlord that Nick suspected had much more rat ancestry in his blood than the mouse he appeared to be, to exercise his vitriol for foxes, and finally rid himself of Nick once and for all by plausibly, if somewhat questionable, legal means. He'd been doing his best to make it as difficult as possible for Nick to live there for quite some time now, with the recent 'predation insurance' racketeering gambit being only one of many such strategies the bigoted rodent had brought to bear against Nick over the years in a bid to make him leave _voluntarily_. However, the unauthorized guest and the city's new social climate had finally given him both the excuse and the confidence to actually go all the way through with it this time.

After more minutes than what Nick was comfortable admitting, the doorway finally yielded and the couch was allowed passage. Save for his mattress, the couch was the last of his sparse possessions that needed to be exfiltrated from the residence that was no longer his.

By any reasonable standard, it had been a rather long morning for the two foxes. While Nick was mostly numb to it, both physically and emotionally, Tramadol wasn't exactly a stimulant, and the groggy haze it induced, along with the myriad of bodily injuries he still suffered from, and the effort they'd been exerting was adding up fast.

"You know, we still gotta' do all this again in reverse, right?" Finnick sighed as the two foxes lounged hard on the couch in the hallway.

Nick lazily rolled his head over to look at him with a half-lidded smirk that was slightly more dopey than usual. "I kinda' figured we'd just drive backwards really fast, and slam on the brakes with the doors open," he stated calmly.

"Yeah? And you'll ride in the back too, I guess? Doubt you'd even feel it." Finnick cautioned a chuckle as he said it.

There had been almost no discussion of Nick's fateful grocery trip since he'd returned. Nick was wholly uninterested in pity, not that he imagined Finnick had any to give, and Finnick was too taken aback by Nick's mangled visage to ask. Even with the worst of his injuries concealed beneath his fur, it didn't take a detective to guess what had happened to him. The wrappings around his chest, the gauze taped to the bridge of his snout, and the arm sling that he was ignoring for today were all completely self-explanatory and, as was the case with most of their relationship, there had been no point in belaboring mutually understood facts.

He had been badly beaten by someone, and any additional details were superfluous. How many assailants there were didn't matter; why they'd done it was obvious, and how Nick felt about it was far too personal a detail to either query or reveal.

Nick found the casual joke about his altered state perfectly acceptable, if only due to the fact that his state was indeed _very_ altered, and he chuckled back to ensure that Finnick knew he was indifferent to the comment, and that it didn't get to him.

"Sounds like the perfect plan then," Nick cooed with a distant tranquility.

…

After a brief respite, and having gathered back enough strength to complete the trek of the couch down the stairs, it was carefully maneuvered into the couch-shaped void formed by the rest of Nick's things inside Finnick's van. After making perhaps the twelfth climb up the stairs, Nick's mattress was the final thing that needed to go, and it easily slid through the door and into the hallway. Before taking it down to join the rest of his things, Nick took one final look around his, or rather, _the_ apartment.

It was never a home, much less his home. Foxes didn't have homes. It had been a comfortable place to sleep, and regardless of how much of his scent still filled the place, it wasn't his, and he had no territorial urges to defend his ownership of it. His only hesitation in departing was merely to ensure that nothing important was being left behind.

Satisfied, he placed his two copies of the key on the kitchen counter and walked back out into the hallway for the last time.

"You ready?" Finnick asked in calm solidarity.

It was another topic that didn't require any discussion. There was no reason for Nick to wallow in his sorrows at how unfair this all was. Unfairness was already a shared experience for all foxes, and pretending that his ordeal was any different wouldn't be accurate, and it wouldn't change a thing.

"Yup," he replied dispassionately as he grabbed the other side of the mattress. "Let's get out of here."

…

On a rare stroke of luck, their departure corresponded nearly down to the minute of when the next artificial rain shower was scheduled to start up. Lost in a not quite coherent thought, Nick watched as the water ran down his window and blurred his view of the district scrolling past him.

There was little doubt that he'd ultimately regret the decision to disclose the existence of his sanctuary, even if an imbalance of neurochemicals was preventing him from doing so now. It wasn't that he didn't trust Finnick, he was actually pretty sure that he did for the most part, it was only that the secret was far too crucial to his continued well-being to have been divulged to anyone.

While technically true, there were glaring gaps in Nick's simple story about the abandoned warehouse. With much of his cunning wit lying dormant beneath pain, and the drugs that were working valiantly to mask it, he had been unable to forge a consistent cover for how he had come to know about the building, how he was confident he could safely store his things there, and why it had never come up before. The place's history and what it meant to him were secrets even more valuable than its location, and those questions were left unanswered.

What Finnick suspected of the incomplete information, Nick couldn't guess, but curiosity had never been one of the fennec's strong suits and so the flimsy explanation was accepted without need for further clarification. Nick was thankful for this as, aside from losing all of his personal belongings, such as they were, the tight timetable for the eviction combined with his injured state hadn't left him with any choice at all. He had honestly considered just taking what he could carry and forsaking the rest, but it had been too hard for him to justify the tangible loss over something that was merely _emotional_ , and so he had been forced into asking for help.

The more his clouded mind ran through the disjointed thoughts about his choice, the more he was perturbed by what he had done, so he let his concentration wander away from the possible mistake as he continued to watch the city pass by his window. Whether it was the right choice or not, it had already been made, and he was now fated to live with the consequences, whatever they may be.

…

Nick had never before had a reason to open the main vehicle entrance to the warehouse, and it took the combined weight of both foxes to pull down the chain that lifted the garage door. After quite a bit of struggling, the door lifted just high enough for the van to pass through.

Now that they were outside the range of the Rainforest District's climate manipulation, the sky was bright with early afternoon daylight. Tight beams of it pierced through the rusted steel corrugated roofing and refracted off the dusty, cracked concrete floor, providing more than enough illumination for the double pair of nocturnal eyes.

Finnick aimlessly surveyed the vast, rubble-strewn area while Nick sought out the specific location where he planned to keep his possessions. He had reviewed his mental map of the warehouse and selected the location earlier, but it had been quite a few years since he'd actually delved into this part of the building himself.

"Over here," Nick called out, his voice echoing slightly.

He stood in front of a large wooden door. Doubting that he could do any more damage to his healing process than he already had, he placed his paws on it and braced his feet. Drawing on most of what strength he had left, the door began to slide on its rusty rails and opened to reveal the dark, slightly damp concrete storage room behind it.

It probably wasn't a perfect place to store his things, but it would be good enough for a few days, even a few weeks if needed. It would grant him the time he needed to recover properly and eventually he would be able to come up with a proper plan on what to do with himself and his things. For now, those types of decisions were far outside both his mental and physical capacities.

…

The process of unloading Finnick's van was going much more smoothly than the process of loading it had. Not quite as quick as the driving in reverse and slamming on the brakes strategy might have been, but pulling the van right up to the door meant that most of the items only had to be carried a few yards to reach their final destination, as opposed to the several flights of stairs that they'd traversed on the way out of the apartment. The tarps Nick had placed on the dusty ground were much more spacious and required much less of an organizational strategy than what the van had, which greatly sped up the process.

Nick gingerly hopped up into the van to begin sliding the last few boxes closer to the edge so that they could be more easily removed when he got back out. He had just jumped back down and was lifting a box when a creaking groan suddenly shifted his survival instinct into high gear, priming his body for flight.

Even before he had time to turn to find the source, the creaking groan, easily identified as that of old wooden boards giving in to age and deterioration, was cut off with a thunderous crack as the wood snapped. Nick spun around just in time to see Finnick leaping out of the way as a large set of wooden shelves pulled away from the wall, then accelerated towards the ground.

Hitting with enough force to turn the unit into a heap of splintered lumber, the crash emitted a concussive echo that was amplified by the shape and concrete constitution of the room. Instinctively bracing himself, Nick's body tensed as his paws rushed to cover his ears and his eyes squinted closed. When the echo subsided, silence suggested that the event was over, and he ventured to open an eye to confirm it.

Seeing nothing of immediate danger, he opened his other eye and removed his paws from his ears, while slightly relaxing his tensed body. The collapsed shelving units had managed to miss most of his things, but it had also kicked up a thick dust cloud that now hung over the room.

"You okay?" Nick called out as he scanned the room for Finnick.

"Yeah," Finnick said gruffly as he picked himself up off the ground and began brushing himself off.

Nick shook off some of his shock and tried to reground himself; it seemed that Tramadol couldn't suppress _all_ of his surprise.

"I don't have that many _nice things_ left, you know," Nick said with sardonic contempt.

"I'd say you still have about the same then," Finnick replied with equal derision.

Nick cocked an eyebrow as the two foxes walked towards the mess to examine the damage. Wooden shelves had been set up against the walls on either side of the room and ran most of its length. Finnick had been placing boxes on one when apparently a leg had given out under the stress. Nick didn't think that the boxes should have been enough to do it in, but while the shelves were at a minimum of thirty years old, it was entirely possible that they were as old as the building was; an estimated seven decades or more. That they hadn't collapsed under their own weight years ago was probably a greater mystery than why a single box had forced them down.

"Where's that lead to?" the fennec asked with a curiosity that was naturally fox, but unnaturally Finnick.

Nick took his gaze from the downed planks to look at Finnick, then to what he was looking at. It was unmistakable what Finnick had found, and Nick's head tilted far to the side with unstifled canid intrigue. Embedded in the cinderblock wall, behind where the shelf had been, was a steel door.

"I have no idea," Nick said slowly, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension filtering its way past the diminishing narcotic haze.

He'd been fairly certain that he had explored every accessible crevice of this place, but apparently he had missed something. His mind was still foggy from the medication, and while the chore of moving hadn't exactly been mentally tasking, he was still finding it difficult to concentrate and better appreciate what was happening.

It was an easy prediction that the door obviously led somewhere that was next to the room they were in now, and logically that place would be another room.

"Hang on a sec," Nick directed as he briskly walked out of the room to check on an idea he'd just had.

He quickly corroborated that his memory from just an hour ago had been correct. The wall just to the right of this room was piled halfway to the forty foot ceiling with reinforced concrete rubble. It seemed likely that it had probably been a mezzanine at one point, but it had been a pile of debris for as long as he could remember. He also seemed to remember that he had once considered that there might be another room behind it, but he hadn't contemplated the possibility in a long time. Not then, or even now, was he big enough or strong enough to clear away the wreckage himself, so it hadn't really mattered what, if anything, was underneath. It seemed that today, though, maybe he would find out.

He stepped back inside the room and looked at the door. It was metal and looked nearly identical to every other door in the warehouse, except for the fact that the shelving must have protected it from much of the oxidation damage that the other doors had suffered. It also appeared that the knob had been removed, likely so that the shelving could sit more flush with the wall, and there was only a dark hole where it should have been.

"I think there's another room over there," Nick said as he approached it cautiously.

"What do you think is in there?" Finnick asked.

"Let's go with gold," Nick said decisively.

"Am I gonna' get a finder's fee for that?"

"Of course. But I'll have to take the cost of that shelf off the top," Nick chuckled as he slid some of the wooden shards out of the way with his foot.

Judging from the hinges, the door would open towards him. But with no knob to pull on, he'd have to stick his paw into the ominously black void where a knob should have been if he wanted to open it. He shrugged his shoulders and went for it.

The air on the other side was much cooler than the air on this side. Though the door fought his efforts to open it, and his positioning afforded him little leverage, he managed to get it to creak and shift about an inch. There was just no other place to grab onto, so Finnick could only watch as Nick struggled to pull it open.

The opening was more of a series of fits and starts as time had warped the original design of the frame and forced friction along the bottom side of the door against the floor. It ground its way along the concrete, creating clouds of pulverized rock in its wake. The sound grated unpleasantly on both the foxes' sensitive ears. After more than a minute of working at it, the door was finally open far enough to allow Nick's lithe body to pass through.

Only able to see darkness beyond, Nick hoped that no savage menagerie awaited him like there had been behind the last mystery door he'd entered.

"After you," Finnick said.

Nick swallowed hard, but it was more because Tramadol made his mouth dry than any apprehension he was feeling. He scarcely believed that his bastion of solitude had been harboring something so potentially dangerous all this time without his knowledge, but the risk of injuring himself in an accident was still a possibility. Steeled by chemically induced indifference rather than any sense of bravery, Nick shrugged his shoulders and slid inside.

It was cooler, but not nearly enough to overpower his warm coat. It was dark too, but his night vision was already starting to adjust. Not encumbered by lack of light or temperature, his nose got to work analyzing the situation as he stepped fully inside.

Of the first traits his vulpine brain identified about the space, was that it didn't belong to anyone. That was, that it had been long enough since someone else had been in here that any scent had completely dissipated. His ears sonically judged the room to be approximately the same size, shape and constitution as the room he had just been in and they could also tell that the space wasn't empty.

His predatory eyes began to process the scant light that was following him in through the crack and amplified it tenfold. As all his senses collaborated to form a proper image of his surroundings, shapes began extruding from the darkness. One of particular note was a larger object at the center of the room.

Being his only definitive target, he stepped towards it while his nose continued to twitch in analysis. Under the smell of dry dust and mothballs, was a multitude of petroleum based chemicals. As he got closer, he was beginning to see, and also smell, that whatever the object was, it was covered in some sort of synthetic canvas material. Careful to avoid the many obstacles, including paint cans and plastic buckets on the ground, Nick stuck out his paw to feel it.

"Find anything?" Finnick asked from the doorway.

"Nah. There's too many gold bricks in the way," Nick called back as his paw made contact with the fabric.

A single touch confirmed that it was some type of nylon covering over top of something else. He pushed his paw against it to try to discern the shape of what lay beneath. Making contact with something hard, he moved his paw along it. His mind automatically began trying to match it to anything similar that he have encountered before. It was smooth, metallic and just as he was beginning to sense something familiar about it, he made contact with something that was rather unmistakable.

 _There's no way…_

The feeling of a protrusion from the smooth metal surface forced his mind to jump to a conclusion that he found rather difficult to believe.

 _It feels like a door handle…a_ car _door handle…_

With his vision now adjusted to nearly how he saw in daylight, just with much less color, he quickly moved his paws down the side of the nylon cover and found the bottom. He then slipped his paw under it and his pad was able to make unencumbered contact with the thing that was covered.

It was definitely metal, and as he ran his paw up the side of what could only be a car door, lifting the cover as he went, he made contact with the handle again. Using his other paw he continued lifting the cover until he could see with his own eyes that it was indeed a car door. More than that, it was attached to an entire car. He could see clearly now that the canvas was definitely covering something car-shaped and his nose was definitely sure that this is where the petroleum smells were coming from.

With a bit of excitement bristling his fur, he more eagerly began lifting the tarp up over the car to reveal more of it.

"What is that?" Finnick called out.

Nick was unsure how to answer, so he didn't. Giving one final tug, he pulled the tarp completely free and it fell to the ground.

"Whoa," Finnick said quietly as he stepped inside.

He strolled up to stand next to Nick as the two foxes stared in awe at a vintage convertible. Despite the low light, it was even redder than Nick was, and he could clearly see his reflection in the polished side window to make the comparison.

Nick had never been big on cars, but he could tell just from looking at it that it was something special. The strong, chiseled features along the hood and sporty curves everywhere else suggested that it was more than just some old car.

"Do you know what that is?" Finnick gasped, an unusual degree of excitement coloring the fennec's tone.

"A sports car?" Nick replied casually.

It was about all he knew for sure, but he figured that Finnick, someone much more mechanically inclined than he was, knew more specifically what it was that they were looking at.

"A Ferox Mustang," whispered Finnick. "An early one, too."

Nick knew of course of the Ferox Motor Company; everyone did. As one of the world's largest and oldest auto companies, its name was easily recognizable and the Mustang was probably its most iconic model. What the equine founder, Henry Ferox, lacked in dexterity, he made up for in imaginative engineering prowess and a desire for speed. While he never lived to see it, the Mustang series was meant to be the perfected culmination and unbridled realization of his dream.

"How early?" Nick said coyly as he continued to grin at his reflection.

…

As the door to John's office latched closed, Nick exhaled wearily. The day had been strenuous and his painkiller was winding down its effectiveness rapidly. Familiar dull aches crept through his tendons and into his bones and joints.

If he was lucky, he might be able to fall asleep before the fiercest of the pain returned, but he wasn't hopeful that he'd make it. Easing himself onto the cot at the edge of the room, regret for how much he'd overworked himself today began to set in at about the same rate as the soreness did.

With three broken ribs and an arm that had nearly been ripped out of its socket, the severe bruising nearly everywhere on his body, and multiple lacerations to his face were mere footnotes lost in a list that included whiplash and a probable concussion.

' _Scratch that,'_ he thought as the world began to spin once he was settled on the cot, ' _almost certain concussion.'_

His efforts today, whether he could feel it or not, had probably set his healing processes back quite a few days, if not actually inflicted further damage. Whatever his state, he was going to have to tough it out on his own now that his prescription was empty.

As he lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to remain as still as possible, his numbness continued to fall away. With it, his mental fog began to clear and more honest evaluations of his situation began to form.

When he'd awoken at the clinic, they'd told him he was lucky to not have sustained any injuries that were more permanent or lethal, but he didn't feel lucky, at least not in the positive sense. Fortune never favored foxes, and while he'd accepted that long ago, the volume of misfortune that had found him since the crisis started was rapidly becoming more than he could handle.

 _Maybe it already is more than I can handle…_

Narrowly escaping death at the claws, _and hooves_ , of _savages_ three times now; facing down tranq guns, muzzles, and collars; losing his regular source of income, his apartment and his unfeeling indifference towards the city, his life, and himself; the fact that he was a fox and that those sorts of things _just happened_ to foxes was no longer any consolation to him. He'd guessed the storm was coming weeks ago, but he had underestimated just how hard it would be to weather it. Always being careful to avoid attachments to anything that might be taken away, he thought he had been prepared for whatever might've befallen him, but he hadn't been. He'd never had much, but now he had even less. If the trend of the recent past continued, eventually he really would be left with nothing, maybe not even his life. Perhaps it would have been easier if that coward flock had just finished the job.

A small light in the reaches of his mind stuck out among the dark waters of his despair and he swam to it. It wasn't exactly hope, but it was in stark enough contrast with the rest of his situation that he allowed himself to take refuge in it.

Divergent from the things that he was losing, he had gained, or rather _found_ something today. It was something new, to him at least, and full of more than enough mystery to keep his curious vulpine mind focused on something other than his dismay and rising pain levels.

Where had the car come from? How long had it been here? It must have been here since at least before he had found the warehouse as a kit. Could it have been here since before then? Did John know about it? Did it maybe belong to John? Did that make it Nick's now? Did it matter who owned it at this point? Did it even work? If it did, what would he do with it?

Question after question rolled through his mind as he laid in the hopes that sleep might save him from the burdens of his physical form. He had no answers, but unlike the rest of his life, the car wasn't just some empty possibility or something that reminded him of how meaningless he was.

…

Agonizing soreness cruelly withheld sleep for most of the night. As he lay there, unable to move for fear of making it worse, the questions of his discovery mixed with the futility of his desires, and the bleakness of his situation. At some point during the long hours of pleading with the Makers themselves to allow him sleep, an answer to at least one of his questions came forward, and with it, the beginnings of a plan.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Hello readers!

First my apologies that this is late. I have actually been keeping to a strict schedule of 2 weeks or less since the very first chapter, and after almost 7 months, I've broken the streak (and even after eng wrote an entire chapter for me!). Combination of work things, Mass Effect Andromeda coming out, and a lack of inspiration are among the chief reasons. No worries about running out of outline material or ideas; there is still plenty of that. This chapter, was short and significantly less 'exciting' and 'actiony' than the previous chapters, thus leading to my difficulty in writing it. It is easier to make the action scenes 'interesting', and it took me a while to make this much calmer one 'feel' right. Also, don't mistake this for a 'filler' chapter either, it has also been planned for a while and fits with the narrative, but planning a chapter, and writing it are 2 different things.

The Ferox Motor Company – Not my typical style of pun, but Ferox means fierce while Mustang loosely translates to 'wild beast' so this would make it a 'fierce' 'wild beast'. For the record, the 'Musktang' was a close second…

Thanks to eng050599 for editing this, and writing the previous chapter. I very much appreciated it, and it seems you all did as well.

Also very special thanks to fatescanner who also edited this chapter and also went through the effort of re-editing previous chapters that were released before he came onto the team. Very special thanks to him for doing that, and thanks to you all for continuing to stay with me through the errors!


	23. Counting Sheep

…

Day 42

…

[znn com/breaking-news/24-hours-since-last-savage-attack]

 _By Davis Treeseeder_

:24 Hours Since Last Savage Attack!

ZPD sources have confirmed that it has been 24 hours since the last savage attack.

This represents the longest time since the beginning of the crisis that the city has gone without a savage attack. Many believe that this could be the end of the crisis, but others caution skepticism.

When asked for comment earlier this morning, Chief Bogo of the ZPD had this to say: "We are as hopeful as everyone else, but nothing about our current patrol schedule will change; we will remain vigilant."

…

[znn com/news/savagery-rates-dropping-not-fast-enough]

:Savagery Rates Dropping, But Not Fast Enough

 _By Tracy Cervich_

It's been 2 weeks since Mayor Bellwether declared a state of emergency in the city of Zootopia in an effort to curb the savage crisis. While some of the worst recorded attacks have occurred in that time, the number of savage instances does seem to be falling.

Dropping from an average of 3 attacks per day during the time before the declaration, Zootopia has only experienced an average of 2 attacks per day since, with yesterday being the first day since the beginning of the crisis that no savage reversions were reported. Many had hoped that this trend would mean the end of the crisis, but with an attack by a savage hyena in the meadowlands critically injuring 3 earlier this afternoon, it is clear that it will continue.

Mayor Bellwether had this to say during a press conference held earlier today: "As much as this decrease in violence is due to smart, common sense policy, it is more due to the unyielding dedication of the ZPD, ZFD, ZNG, and the ZMA. The city thanks them for their sacrifice."

…

[znn com/news/savages-stalk-the-night]

 _Error 404: Page Not Found_

…

[pouncehart com/opinion/znn-kills-speciest-conspiracy-report]

 _By Anton Pouncehart_

:ZNN Kills Speciest Conspiracy Report

Blink and you would have missed it. An article released by ZNN earlier this evening was live on their website for a total of 22 minutes before it was removed with no explanation.

The article, titled _"Savages Stalk the Night"_ , was written by Davis Treeseeder. As a combination of contradicting facts, stolen classified material, and of course that ever-pervasive anti-predator sentiment that seems to autocorrect every keystroke in their offices, the article spun a series of plausible facts into a complex web of speciesism so blatant, that not even execs at ZNN could stomach it. It seems that Mr. Treeseeder missed the intraoffice memo encouraging subtlety.

Another memo that ZNN seems to have missed, is that the internet never forgets anything. It took no time at all for my investigators to recover the article from a cached location.

Within minutes of its posting, social media was ablaze with controversy over the content of the slender 341 word article. At first, the discussion centered around the premise of the article: The potential that individuals suffering from instinctual recidivism are currently on the loose and are attacking the citizens of Zootopia. Debate quickly shifted focus to the source of the information, and whether or not it was appropriate for ZNN to release classified information about something that is clearly ongoing. Within approximately 11 minutes after being posted, social media shifted its focus a third time, and began to take a deeper look into the inflammatory language being used in the article.

Of particular focus was this excerpt from the article: "Are these rogue predators escaping into the night to stalk their prey?"

Mr. Treeseeder may fancy himself a poet and etymologist by invoking the savage era definition of 'predator' and 'prey', and blending it with their modern day meanings, but many others found it overly simplistic, and outrageously offensive.

While it is objectively true that all cases of instinctual recidivism, or 'savagery' as ZNN inappropriately calls it, have occurred exclusively within the order of species identified as predators, this was clearly a blatant attempt to push the envelope on those definitions, and to outright link the words 'savage' and 'predator' in the minds of Zootopians.

In what can only be described as ZNN's special brand of propaganda, this excerpt also implies that 'prey' species are the only ones being attacked by recidivists. That is objectively false and absurdly disrespectful to the many victims of this crisis.

Another twist, which has received considerably less attention, referenced _yours truly_ , but failed to properly cite me as the source:

"Some have claimed that there has been a rise in attacks against predators, and while that remains unconfirmed, is it possible that these attacks were carried out by rogue predators? Or is it even possible that these alleged victims are the rogue savages themselves, and were merely incapacitated by the self-defense actions of their target prey?"

Let the record show that _we_ , _Pouncehart Media_ , are the 'some' who have _claimed_ the rise in predator attacks. Now, I know ZNN only has a fleeting familiarity with the concept, but when you actually have _facts_ to back up your story, it's called _reporting_. In fact, we remain the _only_ outlet that has _reported_ on the _facts_ surrounding these attacks. This article represents the first time that ZNN has ever even acknowledged that this trend exists! And this is how they decided to go about it?!

Davis Treeseeder is a disgraceful excuse for a journalist; no, I can't in good consciousness even call him a journalist. He is a propagandist, and he works for the most detestable media organization in existence.

Many will say that ZNN removed this article because it doesn't align with their belief system, but I say that they removed it because it _does_ align with their belief system. They have been spewing anti-predator bile since day 1, and they released this article in their arrogantly overconfident assumption that they have convinced you to agree with them. They were wrong, and when they realized that they'd tipped their hoof early, they deleted the article.

Beliefs like this need to be discussed in the open, not suppressed and quietly deleted. Only by bringing it out into the light can you understand it, recognize it, and defeat it. We need more voices, not less, and if we are to come to a proper understanding about truth, then even the bigoted rhetoric of Mr. Treeseeder is a critical piece of the discourse.

Beyond the embellishment, I do think that the core of the article contained important information. If mammals suffering from instinctual recidivism really have escaped containment, the public needs to know about it, and take the proper precautions.

We have reposted a full copy of the recovered article _here_ , and encourage you to read it, discuss it, and use it to come to a deeper understanding of yourself, and the truth of the world around you.

Stay safe Zootopia.

…

[zooglewebcache com/search?q=cache:znn com/news/savages-stalk-the-night]

:Savages Stalk The Night

 _By Davis Treeseeder_

As the rate of savagery among predator species has seemingly dropped over the last couple weeks, many are asking 'why?'; if only in an effort to identify the cause, and duplicate it further. While there is universal relief that something is slowing it down, some remain skeptical that it is slowing down at all.

"We know of at least one savage that escaped, and was never captured," says a source at the ZPD who refused to be identified.

That incident occurred 4 days ago when a savage raccoon, whose identity has not yet been released, attacked a local petrol station in the Rainforest District, and escaped into the night. With no evidence to the contrary, it is believed to still be at large. But is it the only one?

ZNN has obtained classified documents leaked from ZPD headquarters that show orders for the creation of a special joint task force between the ZPD and ZNG, designed specifically to deal with what the document calls "rogue individuals" or "RI(s)". As suggested by the documents, and implied by our source, this raccoon is not the only such _rogue individual_.

While reported rates of savagery have been going down, is it possible that unreported cases have been going up? Is it possible that some savage reversions have been taking place in secret, and have gone unnoticed? Are these rogue predators escaping into the night to stalk their prey?

Some have claimed that there has been a rise in attacks against predators, and while that remains unconfirmed, is it possible that these attacks were carried out by rogue predators? Or is it even possible that these alleged victims are the rogue savages themselves, and were merely incapacitated by the self-defense actions of their target prey?

With the final passage of Council-mammal Hayworth's recent legislation, the curfew enacted by Mayor Bellwether 2 weeks ago now has the full support of the legislature and has now become official law. It seems that now, more than ever, this was a common sense approach to protecting the public.

…

Day 43

…

While there was all manner of shoe and pad protector available for every species of runner there was, Nick had always preferred the feeling of the bare ground beneath his bare feet. Sensing with his pads the texture and constitution of what was beneath him made it far easier to judge just how much to dig his claws in with each step, allowing him to maximize the effectiveness of each stride, thus maximizing the effectiveness of the entire run.

There was also the seldom discussed matter of his near inability to properly balance himself while walking, much less running, when there was something covering his feet. The loss of so much sensory input from the soles of his pads, forced him to take awkwardly cautious high steps in order to compensate. It was a common problem for canid athletes, not that Nick exactly considered himself an _athlete_ per se, and it was a completely debilitating condition for felines, who suffered a far more devastating vertigo while using the devices.

However, if one could overcome the balance problems, modern footwear technology had far outpaced the benefits provided by eons of hind paw evolution. Many professional athletes, hungry for any advantage they could sink their teeth into, had suffered through an acclimatization process that was often more embarrassing than it was arduous in order to gain the edge provided by shoes catered to their sport.

It wasn't impossible for a fox Nick's age, but it was generally considered far easier to learn as a kit, when the neurological connections governing balance were less rigid. Being a member of the track pack in high school, the grimly brief chapter of his life that it was, had afforded him the opportunity to train with shoes if he had desired, but he had declined, citing the argument often used by so many of the athletes in previous decades: nothing beats natural.

The real truth, one so deep he hadn't then, or even now, admitted it to himself, was that he hadn't been able to afford running shoes at the time, and there had not even been contemplation of burdening his mother by asking. Whether she was able to or not, she likely would have said yes, and he wouldn't have been able to bear the thought of putting her in that position.

Even at that young age, his mind knew to automatically skip over those types of entanglements, and jump him to the conclusion that natural was better; a belief that he held to this day as the bare pads and claws of his feet made unencumbered contact with the dusty ground outside the warehouse.

He looked around as his nose twitched and his ears independently articulated in judgment of the harbor landscape in front of him. If he focused, he could have identified a thousand scents and sounds riding the gentle breeze around him. Like the wind they rode in on, the many inputs floated past the scrutiny of his ever vigilant instincts. Triggering no cause for concern, he let the analysis fade into the background as he enjoyed the fresh air with a deep breath, and let his ears return to their forward orientation. It felt good to be outside again, and even better to be able to go running.

He'd been practically bedridden the last two days from a pervasive agony that intruded on every point of his being. With a dearth of anything substantive to make the pain stop, he had been left on his own to deal with the unmitigated rawness of the injuries from the grocery trip, exacerbated by the recklessness he'd exhibited while moving to the warehouse.

But today, he felt inexplicably _good_. It wasn't perfect, but compared to yesterday, and especially the day before, he had only dull aching shadows in places that had previously been unmovable sans the need for involuntary yelps. Not wanting to repeat the previous mistake, he wasn't planning to go anywhere far, and definitely not anywhere fast, but he felt that a light jog, and maybe even walking if it came to that, would do him some good in getting his head clear.

The activity would provide treatment, but not a cure, for the yearningness to escape that had been plaguing him since the moment he realized he was trapped. His all too real confinement in John's office, and the literal escape that the run would provide, were both simply metaphoric representations of how stuck in his existence he'd become.

He had a plan for that, though, and while the run couldn't fix what was wrong with him, he had hope that it would relax him enough to execute a plan that would.

Finishing his stretches, and mild ruminations, he set out on his jog.

It was a rare day that overcast threatened rain outside of the Rainforest District, but he'd been willing to risk getting caught in it just for the chance to get out of the warehouse. It was slightly cooler today as well, and once again he could see a mid-afternoon thunderstorm on the horizon that stood no chance of making it past the turbulent pressure systems that existed over the city's anomalous climate zones. He didn't mind the rare weather though, as the cooler breeze kept his temperature regulated as he ran, and the blunted sunlight wasn't its usual murder on his eyes.

…

He wasn't entirely sure how long he had been running, and as he stopped for a rest, he realized that he wasn't entirely sure where he had run to, either. It really wasn't that uncommon for him to get lost in thought, or the absence of thought, as he ran, and he often ended up in places that he only had a vague familiarity with. He took a moment to study his surroundings, but found himself unable to determine even which district of the city he was in.

He'd been told by a doctor at Triage Outpost RF-5 that as he recovered, he should expect to suffer a small amount of short-term memory loss due to his concussion, to which he distinctly remembered responding sarcastically, _"Recovery from what?"_ That had been almost a week ago, and after experiencing only headaches, he had hoped that the possibility for memory loss had passed him by.

It wasn't overwhelming, but the run so far had been more tiring than he had estimated, and there was a light fog over his mind as he attempted to figure out where he was.

Possibly, it didn't matter where he was. He could just start running back in the direction that he'd come from, and he'd be heading in the general direction of the warehouse. But thinking on it, it was common for him to take random, zig-zag paths through the streets on his runs, and he honestly could not remember whether or not he had done that on this run.

The realization of the extent to which his memory had failed him was quite disconcerting. His heart rate picked up as the first trickles of adrenalin entered into his system as he began to look around for some landmark or even another mammal that might know where he was. He knew that once he figured that out, he would easily be able to plot a course back to the warehouse. The simplicity of the solution eased him momentarily.

The moment ended swiftly, as he could identify no landmarks of note, nor see anyone that he could ask. The entire street was empty, except for him. Coming to think of it, while he couldn't remember where he had been, he could remember that he hadn't seen any other mammals the entire time he'd been out here. It wasn't necessarily odd that no one was around the warehouse, but judging from the buildings he was surrounded by, he had made it well into the city. The distinct lack of mammals did seem irregular, while the lack of unique architecture was a wholly unfamiliar experience with this city.

He hadn't noticed until just now, but the overcast above him had been getting thicker, and the light breeze was getting steadier.

His attention back to the problem at paw, he found it difficult to understand why no one would be on the streets at all. Propelled by survival instinct, something panged hard to the forefront of his mind.

Perhaps he had missed a news alert. Something specific to this area, wherever this was. He quickly patted his pocket for his phone, but it wasn't there. A related memory brimmed forth, and he realized that the device was still a shattered, inert brick sitting on his father's desk.

It was doubly unfortunate, as his phone would have easily been able to tell him where he was, as well as how to get back. Without it, he would have to navigate the old-fashioned way.

He took a deep breath to calm himself. His present condition was completely defined by disorientation, but that was no reason to panic.

While he still wasn't sure it was the proper direction, it was a familiar direction, and so he turned to walk down the sidewalk the way that he'd come. Arriving at an intersection, he looked up at the green street signs; the street that he was on, _'Circumstance'_ , and the street that was intersecting it, _'Destiny'_.

He looked at them with his head tilted in puzzlement. Not only were they odd names for streets, he didn't recognize them as streets in Zootopia at all. He knew the streets of this city like the back of his paw, but that confidence had apparently been in error. It was possible that these were just very short streets that he had never crossed before; the also unfamiliar buildings seemed to suggest that. It was also possible that they were new streets, or ones recently renamed, but an aged quality about the sign seemed to suggest that they were not.

Looking back to the streets, he noticed that a set of wooden barricades were blocking _Destiny_ from intersecting _Circumstance_ on either side. Thick black letters reading _'Z.P.D.'_ centered each. Their only relevance to his current predicament was that they confirmed that he had been on this road, _Circumstance_ , for at least the previous block. It wasn't a full reconstruction of his path, but it was a start.

Even though this was progress on a logical level, some part of him felt the barricades were meant to corral him, the way they had at the metro station. He shook off the notion. They were just regular ZPD barricades; they weren't meant for him specifically.

A wind gust whipped down the street, and with it came an unexpected chill. He looked up at the sky, and its darkening overcast was quickly morphing into menacing cloud cover. His nose had been focused on an odd, and indistinct scent since the moment he realized he was lost, but it was now noticing the light scent of building ozone. It was rare, but not unheard of, for an actual storm of nature to fall over Zootopia. When it did, it was easy to tell its natural origins as the many scents the process brought with it did not precede the artificial storms brought on by the technological manipulation in the climate zones.

Just then, he had an idea of what it was that smelled off about this place. It wasn't in fact something odd, it was the lack of something. It usually wasn't a conscious observation, but every district in the city had a unique scent. It was usually just a backdrop to a particular region's character, but it was a characteristic that a nose like his could easily distinguish.

Could easily distinguish if it existed, that is. The oddity he had noticed was the distinct lack of any such identifying scent markers in the air. It was more than odd, and another wave of disconcertion crashed onto him.

Whether he had forgotten what the districts smelled like, or his nose was simply not working today, darkness enveloped him. Not being able to rely on the use of his nose was in many ways worse than being blind. A sense of foreboding began to rise within him as the scent of the storm grew stronger, and the sky grew darker.

Not willing to give up the sense completely, he closed his eyes and set the entirety of his mental effort into analyzing what he could smell. The thousands of harmless scents that instinct had allowed to fade into the background were no longer present when he attempted to bring them back into the foreground. In the inky blackness of the scent-scape around him, there was the approaching storm, and only one other smell.

Devoting himself to the additional fragrance, he quickly identified it as the sharp odor of fresh paint. Opening his eyes, he looked around him. With the wind, the scent could have traveled some distance, but its pungent crispness implied its nearness.

And near it was, as his eyes identified the source. Here, at the intersection of _Circumstance_ and _Destiny_ , and in sharply white relief against the deeply black pavement was a _Fox Away_ symbol, spanning the width of both streets. How he had missed it prior to now haunted him deeply.

From the freshness of the paint, he concluded that the marking was recent; _very_ recent.

At this realization, survival instinct lashed out from the deepest depths of his mind with another revelation: _The ones who did this could still be near._

With no concern for destination, only a desire to escape his present location, he began to run. Crossing _Destiny_ , he sprinted down _Circumstance_ , back in the direction he had come from.

…

It felt like he had been running for several blocks, but based on coming across no other intersections, he hadn't even completed one when he reached the building at the end of the road. He had seen it in the distance, and reasonably assumed that this would end up being a 'T' intersection, where he would have had to make a choice of left or right, but upon reaching it, there was no intersection of streets to choose from. The road simply ended, walled by concrete on three sides.

He slowed to a stop in front of the imposing impasse, and looked up at it. Like before, he stood in shock that he hadn't noticed it before. Perhaps it had been lost in the distance, but now, being so close to it, he couldn't help but stare at the massive _Fox Away_ logo adorning the wall in front of him; white lines grew in length as the fresh paint dripped like blood from the emblem. He had inadvertently followed whoever was doing this.

 _Or I've been tricked into following them._

The thought once again sent a spike of fear through him. This marking was far fresher than the one at the crossroads, logically making him far closer to the perpetrators than he had been before. Taking a step back from the monolithic icon, he tore his eyes from it, and began to run the only direction he could, not even attempting to make sense of how he had come from this direction, when that was clearly impossible.

With the wind from his sprint, and the increasingly inclement weather, his ears were of little use, but as he ran back, he clawed through the white noise in search of any insight that they might have had to offer. Other than the howling wind, his breath, and the sound of his bare paws hitting the pavement, he heard nothing. No matter how hard he focused, he could hear nothing that indicated he was in, or anywhere near, a city of thirty million.

He didn't have time to dwell on the implications of such silence as his arrival back at the intersection of _Circumstance_ and _Destiny_ came startlingly earlier than he had anticipated.

He slowed, and came to a stop at the center of the intersection; the center of the _Fox Away_ logo. The road behind him was a dead end, but he still had three options in front of him. With only a single significant difference between the options, he continued forward, further down _Circumstance_. Perhaps there was a reason _Destiny_ had been barricaded; defying it was potentially risky.

His jog was much lighter and more cautious than before as he made his way to the next intersection. He could see it and with it, there was hope that he could escape _Circumstance_ and then begin making his way back to the warehouse.

Just before he reached the crossing, a gust of wind brought him a new scent that elicited relief from his disorientation. Someone else was just around the corner, and he picked up his pace in anticipation of getting the assistance he needed.

His excited acceleration lasted for only a single step before additional scent information caused his next step to dig his claws into the pavement in order to stop himself as abruptly as possible. It was too late, though. He had been moving too fast and had been too close to the intersection to avoid passing into it.

The scent, one that would have been foreign to him only two months ago, had garnered a sharp familiarity with him during that time. It was the smell of a rage so fierce, that it left no room for any other emotion. It was the scent of a savage.

The two mammals locked green eyes on each other at the same time. They could see each other, and they could see that they were being seen. There was no going back from the mutual discovery of each other's existence, nor escape from the consequences there on.

The shimmering black mass prowled slowly towards Nick, as the scintillating black slits in its eyes projected pure terror into his soul. The first time he'd faced a savage, someone had saved him. The second time, he had paid forward the favor, but had an entire crowd to get lost in as cover. The third time, he'd barely survived, but they'd taken their time with him and created an opportunity for someone else to save him. This time was likely to be the last time, as he was alone, and there was no one else to rely on. He could see it in the murderous eyes that this panther would be far more hasty in its efforts than the sheep had been.

Flexing every fiber of his vulpine agility, he turned and sprinted back down _Circumstance_ as it was the only direction that took him further from the savage cat. He heard the guttural roar of the feline behind him, then only pounding filled his ears; the pounding of his heart, the pounding of his feet, and the relentless pounding of the savage pursuing him.

Foxes were fast, but not nearly as fast as panthers, and Nick was far from peak-fox condition. The scrabbling sound of the hunter's claws against the pavement grew closer with every stride and with each clacking scrape, his panic level grew by factors. His accelerating terror failed to induce a reciprocal acceleration in his feet, and the savage continued to gain.

He had barely made it back to the intersection of _Circumstance_ and _Destiny_ when he felt the hot breath on the back of his neck. He knew this was the end, but he couldn't bring himself to turn and face it.

As if understanding his apprehension at facing the end, the savage cat leapt from the ground, and pounced to a position in front of him, cutting him off. Nick nearly tumbled over as he tried to skid to a stop and switch directions. The black panther skidded too, then turned its head back to stare once more into Nick's eyes, paralyzing him.

Without warning or preparation, the savage sprang backwards, twisting its body as it flew through the air towards Nick.

Time slowed down considerably, but only served to allow him a brief contemplation on his existence, rather than time to escape his fate. Here, at the crossroads of _Circumstance_ and _Destiny_ , he was going to die.

He'd seen it in the movies and read it in stories hundreds of times. A romanticized death, where calm and serenity accompanied the acceptance of it. But now that he'd faced it multiple times, he knew that wasn't the reality of it at all. It terrified him that this was the end, and he didn't accept it.

Time resumed its normal rate as heavy black paws made contact with his shoulders. Energized by the inertia of three hundred pounds of sleek muscle, Nick's svelte form offered no resistance as the paws drilled him into the ground.

The full weight of the beast pinned him to the pavement. His arms and shoulders were being crushed, but that was of little consequence as the depths of those green eyes shone brightly out the savage's implacably black face, and lanced through him once more.

Redlined with effort until the end, his survival instinct clawed at every scintilla of information still streaming into his senses. It was truly the most futile activity that had ever been performed, as there was no possibility of escape from what was next. As a testament to the uselessness of the endeavor, the only fact that bubbled forth from his analysis was that the smell of fresh paint was rather strong here, and he knew that he was in the center of the _Fox Away_ symbol.

Knowing that something was inevitable did not mean that he wanted it to happen, but if it was going to happen anyways, he wanted to get it over with, as his fear had simply become unbearable.

The end did not come though, and as the green eyes of death stared into him, he found himself staring back. The panther continued to stare at him as its hot panting breath beat down on him, contrasting harshly with the steadily rising intensity of the chilly wind.

Still panting with fright, but with an increasing confusion, Nick shouted, "Just do it already!"

"Is that really what you want?" a gentle, and supremely naive voice called out from the distance.

As startling as it was for a third mammal to suddenly be present, it was far more startling that he recognized the voice.

He ventured to move his head and look around, but a ferocious growl sent spittle onto his face, and he aborted the effort. He continued the search by moving only his eyes, but spoke out before he found what he was looking for.

"Judy! Run! Save yourself! Just run!" Nick shouted as his eyes finally locked in on the small grey bunny he was looking for.

She didn't look scared and was approaching him leisurely. Stepping to stand next him, she looked down on him with a contemptuous grin, backed by a darkening sky.

"Run?" Judy Hopps said with sardonic confusion. "Why would I run?" she asked with a small laugh. Reaching towards the jaws of the savage she said, "You're the only thing here that's dangerous."

Her paw found the underside of the panther's chin and to Nick's horror, she began to rub it. The savage cooed a deep rumbling purr, as its head lifted and swayed under her touch. As it did, Nick could see its neck, and the reason why Judy was unafraid. Around its neck, glowing with a green more deeply resolute than the murderous eyes, was a TAME Collar.

"Judy?" Nick asked as confusion and denial of partial understandings drowned his consciousness and struggled to compete with his fear.

She stopped her caressing of the savage, and the two mammals stared back down at him with the same look in their eyes.

"You're dangerous, Nick. A savage predator of the worst kind," she said calmly as she looked down on him.

The words stung terribly. "Please, Judy," Nick pleaded with a trembling voice. "You know that's not me. You're the only one that does!"

"No, Nick. I only know that you might go savage at any moment and that you might try to eat me. You completely terrify me, Nick." She spoke with complete conviction. Her tone left no room for doubt in her belief of what she said.

The pain in his heart was like it was on that first night; the night that he had asked her the questions that corresponded to those answers. It was worse than anything the savage on top of him could do. He couldn't face her, so he let his head fall to the side and away from her. His eyes fell on the barricades blocking off _Destiny_ , and the stormy skies in the horizon beyond it.

"That road isn't for you, Nick," Judy said with a softness that belied her words. "You're too dangerous to go that way. You'll scare the others, and no one wants that."

There was little purpose to regretting it at this point, but he wished that he had pushed past the barriers when he'd had the opportunity, taking his chances with _Destiny_ rather than staying trapped on the dead-end of _Circumstance_. It was too late for that now, though. He was locked on this course, and circumstances would fetch yet another heavy price from him.

"A-Are you going to collar me?" he stuttered out as he kept his pained gaze on the road he never tried to take.

"Oh no! Of course not!" Judy said excitedly.

Her delighted mannerism reacquired Nick's attention and he looked back to her with a terrified confusion. Seeing his distress, she continued on with her explanation.

"Yes, you are very dangerous, Nick. Far more dangerous than this thing," she said as she patted the jaguar between the ears and receiving another growling purr for her efforts. "But your danger comes from somewhere else," she explained. "You were right to think that the whole world sees you as shifty and untrustworthy because foxes _are_ shifty and untrustworthy. These _collars_ can tame even the savagest beasts, but even that still isn't enough for foxes. Your savagery comes from how much you _lie_ , so we came up with a special solution, just for you."

With a smile more evil than any expression he had ever seen before, Judy pulled a paw from behind her back to reveal something that induced more heart-stopping terror in him than he had ever experienced before. Like not taking his chances with _Destiny_ , it had been a mistake to not accept death when he'd had the chance. Not even in his most vivid nightmares had he ever seen one before, but even so, he still knew exactly what it was.

Without breathing, his unblinking, pinprick pupils were transfixed on the _TAME Muzzle_ held in Judy's outstretched paw, the unyielding green glow of its status light his target.

The black sky began steadily dropping icy cold rain drops, but he couldn't feel them. His mind, on the brink of completely shattering itself from fright, couldn't even visualize himself wearing it. His body might go on, but if she placed that on him, it would be as good as killing him.

"It's the only way to protect us from your lies, Nick," Judy yelled over the sound of the torrential downpour striking the ground around him. "And it's the only way to protect you from the ones you tell yourself!"

He hadn't realized that his head had started slowly shaking until he saw hers slowly nodding to counter him. Still pinned to the wet pavement, his head was the only thing he could move, and he shook it with more fervor.

Judy nodded her head more adamantly and said, "Yes, Nick. It's the only way to keep everyone else safe, _from you_."

"No!" Nick yelled as his drive for self-preservation ignited anew and his struggling became more forceful.

"Hold him still," she commanded with a voice more icy than the rain.

Wriggling as forcefully as he could had gained him less than an inch under the weight of the savage paws still holding down his shoulders. Crushing his final stand, a second set of savage paws sprang forth from he knew not where and held his head, while another set grabbed his feet. Under the unimaginably tight grip, every inch of his motive freedom had been removed. He was completely helpless as Judy moved the steel cage over his face.

"No!" was all he could shout, over and over again as the _TAME Muzzle_ lowered to his face.

The mechanisms of his mind seized in their operations, leaving him unable to process what he was seeing. If he had been able to, he would have seen blue-white flashes arcing between the electrodes inside the device. While the specific shape of each flash was unique, each mimicked the larger flashing arcs jumping across the stormy black sky above him.

By the time the _TAME Muzzle_ reached the base of his face, his terror had overcome his ability to speak, and only fought whimpers remained. His tears were lost amid the rain hitting his face and his mind produced one final thought before it collapsed: This wasn't going to be like dying once, it was going to be like dying over and over again. One death for every instant of existence.

Close to the breaking point, his mind clawed at his memory in search of refuge. He was at the press conference again and his heart was breaking. He was locked in an equipment shed, and his hope was being snuffed out. He was being held down by the ranger scouts and his innocence was being stolen. All of it happened at once until the neural circuits responsible for his ability to experience loss, hopelessness, and terror finally burned out, and his mind shattered.

Judy lifted his head and tightly secured the strap to a face that he could no longer feel. His ears were deafened as the capacitor coils screeched in their charging cycle, and as they approached their peak, his vision narrowed to blackness, and he began his first death.

…

Suddenly finding his paralysis gone, there was still something on top of him. He knew it was hopeless, but he felt a renewed energy for fight, and so he did. While the tangle of sheets from his bed stood no chance against the cornered fox, it took Nick several seconds to realize that that was what he was up against, and that the only reason they were strangling him so effectively, was due to his struggling efforts against them.

Only after the sheet was defeated and his night vision began scanning the dark of John's office for his next target, did a spark of rationality enter his mind. As the seed grew and cooled his anger at nothing, he realized how heavily he was panting, and the brutal pounding his own heart within his chest. He noticed the acrid scent of his own fear; it clung thick to the air, dripping like the wet paint in his dream.

He was in a fighting stance, with his paws raised and his claws spread. The conquered sheet lay in tatters on the floor next to him, and he realized that he was alone. Quickly bringing both paws to his face, he found no restraint, though he could still feel an echo of where it had been.

Memory and the other conscious bits of the mind that were active only while awake began to connect the dots of where he was and what had happened. He was in the safety of his father's office at the warehouse, and he'd had the nightmare…again.

He closed his eyes, relaxed his stance, and attempted to regain control of his rampant panting.

This was the fifth time he'd had that dream since the announcement of the TAME Bands, but the experiences he'd collected during his journey to now, had continued to evolve and sharpen the dream. By leaps and bounds, this had been by far the worst iteration of it, and he shivered to think of what grim terror might manifest itself the next time.

Other parts of his mind began to rouse as well and as he sat down with a grunt, holding his chest wrap, he realized that there was something that should have easily clued him in on the dream from the start: _Only in my dreams am I in any condition to go running._

He painfully bent over to retrieve his ripped up sheet, and returned to lie back down on his bed, groaning with agony as he did so. He knew from an exhausting amount of experience that he would not be able to fall back asleep tonight so he rolled his head towards the window overlooking the harbor, and tried to find the stars. To his dismay, there were none tonight, as a rare thunderstorm had indeed breached the city.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Honestly, when it comes to Pouncehart, I never have any idea what he is going to say when I start typing.

Ah the _TAME Muzzle_ … Perhaps the most terrifying device in the entire fandom. Luckily it was only a dream, and if you paid attention to the title, you may have guessed that early on. Don't mistake this for another beat-Nick-up chapter, as I included plenty of symbolism on Nick's mental state within the dream. Perhaps the most literal one was the 'ZPD' barricades blocking (or possibly a hurdle) to reach _Destiny_. Not to mention his entrapment in the _Circumstance_ of being a fox.

I have thought quite a bit about Nick and his muzzle phobia, as seen in the chapter 'Free From Fear', but also in one of my other stories, Muzzled Dissonance. It is a one off, taking place just a few months after Nick's reunion with Judy (but before Nick goes to the academy), dealing with how Judy helped him overcome the fear. It even received a follow up by fellow writer KOakaKO, who wrote an addendum chapter for the story that I encourage you to check out (after you read mine of course).

In contrast to many of the other stories you might read, you know exactly how this will end, and (about) how much longer it will take to get there. So I don't feel like I am ruining anything by saying that these last few chapters have been Nick's low point, and that from here on out, he'll be on the upswing. I won't say any more than that, but my time of beating down Nick has come to it's natural conclusion, and there will be much more focus on his personal growth, self-exploration, and healing process moving forward. That's not to say that there won't be bumps in the road, nor that Bellwether and the gang won't still be having their evil way with the rest of the city in the meantime :)

Thanks again to eng050599 and fatescanner for helping with the edits on this!


	24. Collaborators

…

Day 45

…

[pouncehart com/headlines/rss]

-Hayworth Proposals: Anti-Growling, Anti-Pack, Anti-Predator

-False Savage Reports Continue to Swamp ZPD Response Time

…

[znn com/business/hayworth-implies-talon-defense-investigation-imminent/]

:Hayworth Implies Talon Defense Investigation Imminent

 _By Rodney Silfur_

Coming on the heels of yet another missed delivery target for Talon Defense's _TAME BandTM_ , Councilor Hayworth implied that an investigation into the validity of claims made by the company could be on the horizon.

In a statement early this morning, he had this to say about the matter:

"I am open to any idea that can solve this crisis, but I won't stand idly by while predatory corporations prey on the fear of our citizens. I won't let them be taken advantage of like this. Jayson Talon has made some lofty claims, and if he cannot back them up with results, he'll be held accountable."

Councilor Hayworth is to meet with Jayson Talon III, CEO of Talon Defense, later today, but insisted that this will be an informal event and that no official investigation is currently underway.

While initial reaction to the announcement of the _TAME BandTM_ was positive, with hundreds of thousands of _TAME BandTM_ orders and TAME app downloads, continued unavailability of the product could shift public sentiment against the company and pave the way for an investigation of this kind.

At present, Talon Defense has exclusive contracts with the ZPD, supplying every non-lethal armament the force uses. Councilor Hayworth refused to comment as to whether these contracts could be at risk.

...

…

…

While there were no unsightly walls dividing Savannah Central from the Highlands District, the Talon Defense Industries campus, Talon Park, was generally considered as the definitive border between the two regions. Covering some two hundred acres of the most prime manufacturing real estate in the country, the gently sloping rectangular plot of land was backed by the majesty of the Highland Forest as it raced up the side of Stony Ridge Mountain.

As if mimicking the social strata of those who worked within, flattened plateaus had been cut into the hill, rising and falling like stair steps. Upon each of these levels rested dozens of buildings whose purposes ranged from manufacturing on the lowest levels, to administration on the highest levels.

Several of the structures even served as dormitories with the capacity to host a considerable portion of the Talon Defense workforce. Though not quite the oppressive company town like in days of old, it still bore the unofficial nickname of 'Talon Town'.

Powered by the boundless electrical torrent of the fusion reactors buried deep within the mountain it sat upon, the mini metropolis was capable of producing nearly every product Talon Defense had to offer, including their newest product, the TAME Band.

Centering the rearmost and highest level, a jagged stalagmite of grey rock and silvery glass jutted skyward. Standing at a mere three hundred feet, Talon Defense headquarters seemed a modest edifice when compared to the towering cloudscrapers of downtown, but once the elevation of this zone was taken into account that humility disappeared. When seen from a distance, it rivaled even the tallest buildings in Savannah Central, and when seen up close, it was second only to the mountain itself.

For those that knew the city well, Talon Park was just another one of the many fixtures in the Zootopian skyline, but for an impartial observer, this thin strip of industrial zoning did seem at odds with the commercial and residential sectors surrounding it. Not that it was of any consequence, some did speculate that the first Talon to bear the name Jayson had engaged in a variety of illicit dealings back in the days when the city was much younger and more naive. The hoofful of other light manufacturing centers that neighbored 'Talon Town' served as circumstantial evidence for both the non-exclusivity of such a deal, should it have existed, and a cover-up to the contrary. With no bearing either way, Kyle entertained that it was the latter as his car made the turn onto Bergwand Avenue.

The road was practically empty, although its sparseness might easily have been explained away by the hour of the day. Being that it was mid-morning on a workday, most mammals had already arrived at their respective places of employment for the day, but Kyle knew that that wasn't the reason for the scarcity. Not every mammal, but every mammal that could, was staying home these days, braving the streets only when necessity dictated.

' _After all, a pred could go savage at any time,'_ he mused to himself, as a smile spread across his muzzle in response to the chaos that he had helped perpetrate.

The apprehensive participation in city life was a reflection of it's current economic state, or perhaps it was the other way around; possibly even both. For all his personal _needs_ of power, his belief in The Purpose was quite genuine, and it pained him to see that the prey of this city were suffering during this transitional interim. The crisis had thrown a wrench into the most powerful engine of commerce that history had ever forged, and while it made terrible noises and shook like a young colt struck with fever, the city had more than enough inertia to make it through to the other side. And like that young colt, when the spasms stopped, and the fever broke, the _disease_ would be purged, and the city would go on better and stronger than ever before.

He could see the finish line more clearly every day. Kyle knew in his heart that if the prey of this city knew what this new age would herald, they would have gratefully accepted their current struggle as fair price for their future prosperity. Also like a young colt though, they didn't always know what was best for them, and like the dutiful patriarch, Kyle accepted the burden of making the choice for them. The Purpose was the scalpel that would excise the diseased flesh from the city, and would finally rid them of the _predatory_ infection plaguing Zootopia.

A slight smile formed as his car passed through the entrance gate. Intermittently, he'd found himself traveling to the more aristocratic atmosphere of the upper highlands, and passing through this ward as a consequence, but beyond that, he'd never before had this area of the city as his destination, nor as his specific notice. Today it was both, and being that he was merely a passenger in his car, he took the time to gaze upon the impressively modern environmental architecture and landscaping of the Talon grounds.

It wasn't too long ago that he would have been able to drive here himself, he was only a city councilor, after all, but with the recent predation wave striking the city, one couldn't be too careful. Aside from the elaborately planned theatrics at his rally a few weeks ago, the possibility of his getting caught up in one of the not-so-random savage attacks was practically nil. While there was some worry that one of the rogue savages could find him, and slightly more worry that a predatory protestor might, the pair of lethally armed ZNG soldiers escorting him seemed excessive. He would have much preferred his escort to be the less imposing ZPD, and even more so to have none at all. Even with the new threat potential, he was confident that he could handle himself against just about anyone, regardless of their mental status.

"I'd prefer if you stay here," Kyle said as the car came to stop in a guest parking space. During the moderately graded climb towards the headquarters building, Kyle had decided that he'd rather go it alone. He felt completely safe here, and knew that Jayson had his own security on premise. There was no need for his guards to stalk him all day.

"Sir, we have orders," an elk replied curtly from the driver's seat.

Kyle considered the response. He had anticipated this, but had wrongfully, or rather lazily, predicted that they might accept his request as a new order. While the ZNG was under the control of the civilian government, Kyle was still furlongs away from being their civilian commander, so far as the lines of succession were concerned. That would all change when he was mayor in a few months, but he still felt slight embarrassment that his authority wasn't being proactively recognized.

Theorizing that he may have more luck if he justified his desires, he clarified. "There is more than enough security here, and all their preds are banded. I will be plenty safe, and I don't want this looking like some sort of forceful takeover at gunpoint. Do you understand?"

He kept his deep voice in the calm and friendly tenor that he so often had success with, but the smile he was wearing faded slightly at the driver's retort.

"Those bands are no guarantee of anything, Mr. Hayworth."

The words were steadily spoken in a carefully measured cadence, but it was obvious to Kyle that the soldier was covering his true thoughts. Kyle's smile faltered to a more neutral expression as their meaning landed a blow he had not been expecting.

The only thought that Kyle had truly given to the ZNG soldier that was killed at his press conference was how best to use the incident as a tool to bend the media narrative, and further the goals of The Purpose. During the hours of planning that went into the event, the thought had always been that the savage councilor would have attacked a fellow councilor, preferably that mutt Benton, and while there may have been horrific injuries as a result, no one had predicted an actual death of anyone on stage, as the TAME Band should easily have activated before any deadly damage could have been done.

Of course, the thought that someone had died didn't bother Kyle in the slightest, as the soldier had just been another anonymous name on the list of those that had died that night as a direct result of choices he and his comrades had made. It didn't bother him then, and it shouldn't have bothered him now. That soldier, along with the other civilians killed that night, and all the other nights, were necessary sacrifices. Throughout all of history, it had always been an unyielding truth that some members of the herd needed to be left behind as tribute so that the rest might go on to survive. If this practice said anything about anyone, it was about the level of cruelty inherent to the predators that had forced evolution to guide prey into this line of thinking.

The hitch in Kyle's demeanor had been caused by the deanonymization of this dead soldier, a soldier that Kyle couldn't for the life of him remember the name of. He could see in the rearview mirror the eyes of his guards and could easily ascertain through their poorly masked expressions that they had personally known the one that had been killed that night. The soldier that had been killed as a direct result of decisions Kyle had made.

' _If they knew the truth, I'd never be leaving this car,'_ he thought, once again realizing the price that he would gladly pay for The Purpose to succeed.

The introspection only lasted a fraction of a second, and while the emotion Kyle experienced could technically be classified as remorse, it was realistically only a primordial and weakly symbolic representation of the sentiment. He knew that no sacrifice was too much to ask for and that his unique ability to look past these types of entanglements and see the possibilities beyond should not be wasted, even if that dead deer had been a member of his entourage's herd.

"Mr. Talon has assured me that security is ample," Kyle continued to argue. "Perhaps we could compromise with your securing the entrance?" he proposed.

The two soldiers regarded each other in silence for a few seconds, as if having a conversation with merely their eyes. After a short moment, the driver nodded and stated that the compromise was acceptable.

…

After passing through the giraffe-sized glass doors, Kyle was met by the wide-open space of the atrium. The glass ceiling was vaulted several stories above and let in enough natural light that it was almost indistinguishable from being outside. Walls of deep black granite backed the room and would have swallowed every photon had it not been for their mirrored finish.

Covered in large flat-screens, framed newspaper clippings, and poster-sized magazine covers, the walls told the centenarian history of Talon Defense in a sweep that ran the full breadth of the room. Centering the space was a wide, semicircular receptionist desk with several mammals of various sizes, all typing away at their terminals.

As if the algebraic equation had been a drilled credo at boot camp, the two soldiers maintained a range that was perfectly equidistant from the entrance and Kyle as he made his way to the doe receptionist.

"I'm here to see Mr. Talon," he said with a cool confidence and a smile.

Kyle knew that these employees had no idea that he and Jayson were actually partners, and he expected some resistance to his presence out of a sense of stark company loyalty. He'd underestimated his charm, however, as he could see that his couth was melting right through any coldness that she'd been preparing to greet him with.

His two guards notified him that they were willing to stand guard here until his return. Thanking them for their understanding, he then followed the doe to the bank of elevators in the hall beyond the welcoming kiosk. She didn't speak to him during the lengthy ride to the top floor, but did continue to give him sidelong glances that were filled with intrigue rather than spite.

He'd never been against interspecies relationships, and had even engaged in a few during his university years, and since, but she didn't need to know that and he preferred the idea of his public image having an air of traditionalism, even if he didn't specifically state the position. It allowed him to remain appealing to all sides, each projecting their own beliefs into their perception of him.

Kyle was opening and closing his jaw in an attempt to pop his ears when the lift finally chirped and imparted the gentlest sensation of reduced gravity as it came to a stop. The doors parted and revealed another wide-open space.

Floor to ceiling glass walls were broken by evenly spaced pillars of the same sort of striking black granite that composed the lobby. Centering the walls on either side of the room were two secretary desks with an oryx and gazelle typing away diligently.

More impressive than the clean, imposing professionalism, was the view over the city. To his right was the lush canopy over the Rainforest District and to his left were the glistening ice caps of Tundra Town. In front of him, on the other side of this lengthy room, were a set of tall double doors that he guessed led to the executive office, and although that wall was also jet black, he anticipated that once inside the room, he would have an unparalleled view of downtown Savannah Central.

"Right this way, Mr. Hayworth," his escort directed.

He followed her towards a set of large white lounge sofas near the center of the room, where they met the gazelle that had been sitting at one of the desks.

"Welcome, Mr. Hayworth," she said cordially with an extended hoof.

Kyle extended his, and they touched wrists. She nodded to the doe that had been escorting Kyle, and dismissed her.

"I'm sorry to say that Mr. Talon is running a little late with a previous meeting. Is there anything I can get for you while you wait? Coffee? Sugar cube?"

Kyle regarded her suspiciously, then looked at his wristwatch deliberately.

"My time is very valuable," he replied with clear annoyance in his voice.

The smallest frown flashed across her face, quickly followed by amusement and a pleasant reply. "Please have a seat, Mr. Hayworth. He will be with you just as soon as he is able."

"You do know what this meeting is about, don't you?" Kyle asked rhetorically; his intent being to pressure her.

"As I said, Mr. Talon will be with you just as soon as he is able," she repeated. She then turned on her heel, and returned to her desk, leaving Kyle standing there alone.

He scoffed slightly with a shake of his head, then took a seat.

For more than thirty minutes, Kyle continued to deliberately look at his watch, then to the door of the master office, and then back to his watch. He hadn't had a direct conversation with Jayson since the night at his mansion, and their subsequent excursion, but they had both known the general outline of what the stratagem was, even though it was Kyle that had taken the initiative to set up this meeting under the pretenses of the city's dissatisfaction with both the TAME Band's performance, and its availability.

Deciding to take the initiative once more, Kyle finally stood up, and began trotting towards Jayson's door, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a tight, determined line.

"Mr. Hayworth!" called out one of the secretaries, Kyle couldn't tell which one, and he didn't care to turn his head and find out.

His stride was brisk, and his ears articulated to hear the sets of hooves pursuing him over the dark mahogany floor. He was completely confident that he'd make it to the door before they caught up to him.

They were not far behind him when his hoof made contact with the door lever, and he pushed it open.

"…expect a rise in capacity of over three hundred percent," Kyle heard Jayson's clipped sentence as he entered.

"Mr. Hayworth! I said he would be with you when he is able!" the gazelle growled sternly as she caught up and attempted to step in front of him to block his path. His large muscular arm gracefully parried her attempt and he continued forward.

His previous assumption that this room would offer a stunning view of downtown had been completely accurate, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sunlight pouring in from the completely glass, semicircular wall that backed the office. Rows of book shelves lined the walls leading to it, and were interspersed with posters depicting what must have been old marketing campaigns as well as stylized technical schematics of several Talon products.

Similar to the rest of the building, the high contrast between dark walls and brightly colored amenities continued to exude professionalism, wealth, and power. It was in one of the white reading chairs along the edge of the room that Jayson Talon sat, rather than at the desk centered at the focal point of the curved glass wall.

Turning slightly in his seat, Jayson looked up calmly, as if he had expected the intrusion. Taking a moment to study Kyle over the rims of his gold-framed reading glasses, he then stated, "Councilor. I am with someone already, actually."

"I am so sorry, Mr. Talon!" exclaimed the breathless gazelle that had failed to bridle the horse.

"Oh, it's not your fault, Gale," Jayson replied kindly without taking his eyes off Kyle. "Councilor, do you think you might wait in the lobby until I am ready for you?"

Kyle felt adrenalin surging in his veins. Unsure of how theatrical he was expected to perform, he decided on continuing as he would have if this had been a legitimate encounter where he and Jayson had never met, and the city was indeed disappointed with Talon Defense's performance.

"If I walk out that door, I won't be coming back, and you'll lose your seat at the table, Mr. Talon," Kyle's deep voice drawled with the self-assurance of a seasoned politician.

Jayson's guest, a klipspringer that was sitting in the white chair across from him, relaxed a pen and notepad in his hoof and leaned back in his seat as he looked from Kyle to Jayson, and back again with intrigue.

The two mammals remained in a moment of silence with their eyes locked. It was Jayson who broke the stare first. He looked away from Kyle and relaxed in his seat as well.

"Whoa, councilor. Easy now. No need to be so rash." Jayson then looked to his guest and spoke as if Kyle wasn't in the room at all. "These young colts, so much fire in their veins. I guess that this will have to be the end of it. I hope you understand," he said sincerely.

The klipspringer stood up, as he said, "No need to apologize, Mr. Talon. I've overstayed my time as it is."

"Please, see Gale about scheduling another time."

Flipping his notepad closed, the journalist grinned and said, "I don't think that will be necessary. I've got more than enough. Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Talon."

Jayson nodded and stood. They touched wrists and then the reporter began walking towards the door, nodding at Kyle as he passed.

Kyle watched as Jayson began walking towards the large desk backed by the glass wall. Motioning to the guest chair, Jayson said, "Please, have a seat, councilor," as he took his own seat on his side of the desk.

As the door shut behind the two mammals that had just exited, Kyle was now alone with Jayson. The caribou tapped one of many switches offered by a raised panel at the corner of his desk. Kyle turned his head to look back at the door as it made a slight rumbling sound, followed by the muffled sound of metal on metal contact. Returning his head forward, he found that the glass overlooking the city had dimmed to half its original opacity and the overhead lights had increased their luminance to compensate.

"The room has been secured," Jayson said softly.

It hadn't been difficult for Kyle to be so crass when he was wearing his politician's persona, but trusting that there was no one watching them any longer, he fell into a more casual state of mind, and was struck with embarrassment for his earlier rudeness with his mentor.

"I apologize about that. You – "

Jayson put a hoof up that stopped Kyle in his tracks. "We don't apologize for anything, Kyle… _ever_."

In his casual state, the mild reprimand stung more than he'd been expecting and turned a knot in his stomach. The words would have had no impact a moment ago, but now that his defenses were down, the strike had landed square and it was likely that Jayson had known this. He wasn't the type of mammal to throw a hit unless he knew it was going to land. Kyle swallowed the bit of his pride that had been injured.

"Well then, let's get started," Kyle said in an effort to move past the awkward moment.

Jayson didn't want to let him go so easily, however, and continued to stare resolutely into his eyes. "Don't tuck your tail between your legs, either. I didn't say it to wound your confidence, I said it so you could learn."

His voice was gentler now, more paternal. He was the bad and good cop all rolled into one, and Kyle found himself drawn into his guidance and wisdom once more.

Kyle nodded then took a moment to clear himself. With renewed confidence, he asked, "So who was that?"

"A reporter from the Zootopia Times. Your grand entrance will probably be a prominent feature in today's evening edition."

"Is that…a good thing?" Kyle asked hesitantly.

"You know, I considered coordinating with you to _make_ a _scene_ when you entered, but I knew that nothing would compare to what your more natural instincts would produce. The only thing I miscalculated was how long it would take for you reach this point and barge in here."

Kyle looked at him quizzically. "You knew I'd do that?"

Jayson smiled. "Didn't you?"

It was becoming clear to Kyle that Jayson's teaching style relied on allowing his ward to discover the answers on their own, even when the information was about one's own self. Jayson apparently knew Kyle better than he knew himself.

"Well," Jayson said definitively, shaking Kyle out of his ruminations. "We both know why you are here, but that doesn't mean we can ignore why everyone else thinks you are here. Believe it or not, it's actually been quite a few years since I myself have been on the grand tour, so this will probably be educational for both of us."

"Tour?" Kyle asked.

"Why, yes. That's what they all think you're here to see, isn't it? The grounds, the factory, the offices, all the hard-working males and females that make Talon Defense the company it is."

Kyle chuckled slightly at the sardonic fervor in Jayson's tone.

"You mean what an inefficient and bloated operation you've got running here?" Kyle responded in a tone of sarcastic criticism.

"Now you're getting it," Jayson smiled.

For the next several hours, Kyle and Jayson were led through Talon Park's many facilities by an energetic young pronghorn, whose entire job consisted of making these tours as simultaneously fascinating and thorough as was possible, with the specific intent of wooing investors and regulators alike. Kyle's guards hadn't had to insist on joining the group as Jayson had thoughtfully extended an invitation and even arranged for them to have their very own electric cart to follow the tour between buildings.

While the visit had been initiated under false pretenses, Kyle's interest and questions along the way were born of genuine curiosity. Their guide had been more than able to answer anything that Kyle could throw at him, and Jayson had hardly spoken once since the tour began.

While exploring the various manufacturing and assembly areas, Kyle couldn't help but notice the staggering proportion of predator workers diligently focused on their tasks.

"Contrary to some opinions, Talon really does care about predators. Almost seventy percent of our associates are predators, and we offer them an amazing benefits package that they would have a difficult time finding anywhere else. Our cafeteria even offers a wide selection of pescetarian options," stated the tour guide.

"And the, ah…" Kyle pointed at his neck as he left the question unfinished.

"Oh! Yes! How could I forget? One of the newest benefits of being a Talon employee is the… _opportunity_ to receive a TAME Band for free for one's self, as well as the ability to purchase, at half price, Bands for mates and litters."

"That's…incredibly generous." Kyle smiled slightly as he looked over the production floor at rows of conveyor belts and green lights. As long as he didn't focus his eyes too hard, it was impossible to discern which lights belonged to the predators, and which lights belonged to the machinery.

"Is it a mandatory condition of working here?" Kyle asked.

"Of course not!" the guide responded energetically. "Self-defense is a prime tenet of personal liberty, and thus personal liberty is a prime tenet of Talon Defense's corporate culture. No one was forced, but one hundred percent of our predators still voluntarily chose to wear a TAME Band out of a sense of duty to protect themselves, and those around them."

Kyle smiled at the statistic and anecdotal causation.

 _I'm sure peer pressure and shame played no part in their decision._

The time spent at each location seemed perfectly timed to achieve a point of peak intrigue with a place's purpose and function, without staying long enough for its novelty to diminish. As their journey took them through buildings that were more and more administrative in nature, the quantity of green lights that were working within diminished rapidly.

Passing through the marketing department, Kyle met with the team that had first developed, and was continuing to create, the marketing campaign around the TAME Band. To his surprise, a tigress was leading the team, and was proudly wearing the gold model around her own neck. She'd even been the one to come up with the idea of calling it a 'band' rather than the initially proposed 'collar', as well as the _'Take back your life'_ campaign that had started a few days ago to promote the product.

After that, it was a visit to the engineering department where a small presentation was given by an even smaller mouse who had purportedly led the team that had taken Jayson's initial sketches and converted them into schematics for the production version of the TAME Band.

Whether the mouse was in on it too, or genuinely thought that this had been the true course of events, Kyle couldn't be sure. He resisted questioning too deeply into or making any body language towards Jayson that might betray his question. It was the nature of The Purpose's cell-based hierarchy that individual parts would and should have a difficult time recognizing each other. Even if the mouse was in on it, he probably didn't know that Kyle was too, and so he let the mystery be.

After spending more than four hours exploring the campus, Kyle had a decent picture in his mind of how plastic pellets, aluminum scrap, and a thousand different microcircuit components went in one side of Talon Park and a TAME Band came out on the other. With the tour ended, they were back where they had started, up in Jayson's office.

Jayson clicked the switch on his desk, and again the door could be heard sealing itself and again the windows dimmed.

"So. What did you think?" Jayson inquired.

"A completely plausible operation you have here."

"Maybe not the highest bar, but it will do," Jayson replied as he sat down in his desk chair and Kyle took the seat opposite. "Don't get too comfortable," Jayson added as he manipulated a control on his switch panel.

"Something else?"

"There's one more place I want to show you," Jayson said as he pushed a final button, then stood up.

Kyle stood up, intrigued, but remained silent as he watched Jayson walk towards one of the bookshelves.

"How much do you know about what it is the collars are meant for?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Kyle replied hesitantly, feeling that this was possibly another test.

"Why are we having them wear the collars instead of just instigating a hundred savages a day until the public begs us to round up all the chompers at gunpoint and exile them from the city?"

Kyle thought about it. In his mind, that actually did sound like a pretty good idea, but the fact that it wasn't the one they were executing meant that there was something about that strategy that didn't achieve The Purpose, and there was something unique to the collar strategy that did.

"Well, we want to control them. Just sending them out of the city doesn't keep them under our control," Kyle responded.

"You're learning quickly." Jayson grinned. "What is it about the collars that would let us control them?"

"Other than the fifty thousand volts?"

"I'll admit, that isn't an insignificant part of the answer. But there is something more."

Jayson had found the shelf he was looking for and began examining the books.

Kyle thought on it a little more, then realized the answer was obvious. "It sets them apart."

"How?"

Kyle kept thinking, then said, "It makes them easily identified. I mean, more so than just their species does. It gives them something that is an easily identified reminder that they are different from other mammals."

Jayson turned to him and grinned. "This building is nearly one hundred years old," he began. "The surface has been renovated half a dozen times since then, but there are still secrets buried in its bones."

He placed a hoof on a book, _The Scent of Things to Come_ , and pushed on it. The book receded some ways into the shelf, and to Kyle's surprise, it pushed itself forward again when Jayson's hoof was removed. Something behind Kyle caught the notice of his ears as they articulated towards it just before his head did. A wide section of the wooden floor in the center of the office began descending several inches. It then retracted under the remaining floorboards, leaving a dark opening.

Kyle looked at Jayson, who was looking at the opening. "What the hell is that?" he asked irreverently, his astonishment removing all pretense of respect. This had been something truly unexpected.

Not saying anything, Jayson began walking towards the opening. Seeing only one option, Kyle slowly followed him.

It wasn't merely a hole in the floor; there was a staircase that lead to what must have been the level beneath this one. As Jayson stepped onto the first step, it and all the ones below began to glow with recessed lighting.

Jayson had walked down several steps before stopping and turning back to Kyle, still at the entrance to the passage. "Are you coming?"

Kyle swallowed, then nodded his head and took his first step down.

The secret staircase led to a hallway that was on the level below the office. It was wide, well lit, and induced no claustrophobia. It was long enough that Kyle realized they must have moved out from under Jayson's office, to under the waiting room. His ZNG escorts were probably just a few feet above him, unaware that he was eluding their protection.

At the end of the hallway was a single elevator door. Instead of the normal up and down request arrows, there was a ten-digit keypad. Jayson typed in a code, then waited.

Kyle looked back down the hall they'd just walked down then looked at Jayson. "This is just one of the regular elevators, isn't it," he stated rhetorically.

"It will only come here if it is empty; even a mouse would register. Once it is here, it will only go to one other place," the caribou continued to stare at the door as Kyle stared at him.

"And where is that?"

"Patience," was all he said in reply.

It was more than a minute before the elevator chimed and the doors opened to reveal an empty car. Jayson pressed several of the floor selector keys in rapid succession and Kyle guessed that this was in fact another key code being entered as a failsafe. The doors closed, and Kyle felt the sensation of dropping as the red LED numbers indicating the floor level began to decrement from twenty. Kyle watched it intently as they neared ground level.

'4… 3… 2… G…'

He had guessed that they might be going to a sublevel, and wasn't surprised to see the numbers continue on.

'-1… -2… -3…'

On they went, until reaching '-6' whereupon the dual seven segment display did its best to replicate the letters 'Er'.

Kyle looked to Jayson, who seemed indifferent to the failure of the floor counter, then back to the display. After a few more seconds, the elevator car slowed, and then came to a stop. The familiar chime sounded again, and the doors opened.

There were very few things Kyle could imagine being outside those doors that would have surprised him at this point, but the spartan white drywall, common overhead fluorescents, and the even more common speckled linoleum hadn't even tried. It all appeared perfectly ordinary and clearly advocated function over aesthetics.

"This way," Jayson said as he briskly strolled into the hallway. Kyle followed him.

The hallway wasn't all that long; much shorter than the previous hallway. Following Jayson, it seemed their destination was going to be the door at the far end of it. Other doors were evenly spaced along the walls and as they passed, Kyle could find no markings or clues of what might be concealed behind them, though none of the handles appeared to be the type that locked, at least from this side. If one made it to this level, additional security was unlikely to provide additional benefit.

As soon as the elevator doors had opened, Kyle's ears had been filled with a low industrial rattling that he guessed to be some combination of the elevator mechanics and the HVAC system, but as they moved further down the hallway, the sound grew louder and more distinct.

It was music, but just barely so in Kyle's opinion, and perhaps the only reason he even recognized it as possibly being such at all was some dim etymological connection to the electronic music he'd grown familiar with during his days at university. Whatever this was, though, was miles from that original genre.

They reached the door and Jayson placed a hoof on the handle, but didn't push it open.

"Brace yourself," he warned with a tone that Kyle couldn't quite pin down as either serious or sarcastic.

The handle rotated and the door opened. The doors must have been pretty thick, for as loud as it had been in the hallway, it was factors louder now that the highly modulated and rapidly fluctuating bass tones reached his ears unimpeded; rumbling with enough force that he could feel it in his chest. Growling roars, and screeching howls overlaid the synthetic din of clashing frequencies. The vocalizations, if one could call them that, contained no sound that Kyle could recognize as speech. His ears went back in an attempt to stem the vibrations, but his effort was futile.

Following Jayson into the room, he tried to take in as much as he could, but the dim light and loud noise disoriented him from effectively doing so.

None of this seemed to faze the caribou as he strolled towards a plexiglas wall that divided the room. This side was a comfortable, if austere, sitting room. The other side had its far wall almost completely covered in bright monitors arranged in a hemisphere, at the focal point of which was the silhouette of a small mammal, whose species could not be easily discerned in the glare.

The shadowy creature was flailing its arms wildly, either in frantic dance, exaggerated manipulation of a keyboard, or some combination of both. One feature, however, was distinguishing enough to overcome the white glow of the screens; a familiar green glow emanating from the creature's neck.

Jayson walked up to the transparent barrier and retrieved a tablet computer from a shelf made of the same material. He tapped something on it and the green glow turned yellow. With no hesitation, the wildly undulating mammal froze stiff. The petrification lasted only a second, and then, very slowly, a paw connected to a sinewy arm reached out towards something on the far right side of the desk. The chaotic onslaught of sound fell to complete silence, but the paw remained where it was.

Kyle was both relieved and fascinated, but remained quiet to see what would happen next. Jayson tapped something else on the tablet and the lights in the room raised to a level comparable to what had been in the hallway.

"How are we doing today, Ricker?" Jayson asked.

The small, furred creature had returned to his state of petrification after the music had stopped, and his outstretched paw still hovered over the control that had silenced it. Kyle could see that the only movement at all was from the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he took steady, deep breaths.

"Better than yesterday. Worse than tomorrow."

The voice was deeper than Kyle had expected from such a small being, but there was still the slight quiver of fear under the raspy outback accent.

"Sounds like progress, then," Jayson stated simply.

"You mind greening me out, mate? Maybe we can keep making progress?" The creature, some small variety of varmint no doubt, still remained frozen with his back to them.

"I'm not your mate, Ricker. And you didn't say the magic word," Jayson replied with casual authority. He was clearly enjoying himself.

"Please… Mr. Talon," Ricker begged quietly.

His tone reflected none of the defiance that this – room? lab? cell? – suggested was an indelible part of his character. Beyond the glass, the walls were covered in posters of grungy band album covers and cult classic movies, none of which Kyle recognized. Electronics equipment and circuits boards in various states of deconstruction, action hero figurines and even several half-eaten meals, which Kyle could only guess were meat-based given the putrid smell, covered the desk. Wads of crumpled paper and crushed energy drink cans littered the floor, while sticky notes infested the lower monitors. The monitors themselves were of equal disorder, displaying a wash of content featuring everything from overhead maps of Zootopia, to CCTV footage. There were several dozen web pages open, along with several windows devoted entirely to scrolling multicolored text on a black background.

Jayson looked over to Kyle, who was still attempting to take in as many details as his senses would allow, then back to Ricker. "Of course." He tapped on the tablet again, and the yellow light faded back to green.

Ricker visibly relaxed back into his seat and just sat there for a moment.

"Ricker often forgets his manners. I usually find it best to remind him of these things up front. Keeps the lines of our relationship clear."

Kyle looked at Jayson incredulously.

"What is this? A captive?" Kyle blurted out the accusatory questions before he could stop himself.

"Volunteer, actually."

The response came from Ricker, who had spun his chair around to face his guests with a devious grin and defiant posture.

Kyle could see him fully now for the first time. Ricker was a relatively small mongoose with beige, disheveled fur, and was down approximately half an ear. He was wearing nylon shorts and a dark-colored tank top featuring art and red title font similar to one of the band posters on the wall: ' _Slaughter'_.

"I assume you know who this is, Ricker?" Jayson asked.

Ricker studied the horse for a moment, looking Kyle up and down as he rubbed his chin with a darker brown paw. Then, still in his twangy outback accent, he began a recitation of Kyle's dossier so thorough, the horse couldn't help but stand still in shock and listen.

"Kyle Strider Hayworth. Born December nineteenth, nineteen eighty-eight to Nancie and Strider Hayworth at Zootopia General. They would never successfully conceive again. Early IQ projections rank as high. Propensity for leadership, social manipulation, and aggression all also identified early on. Formative years were spent in extracurricular student organizations and sporting teams that developed and accentuated those traits. Summers were mostly spent abroad on family trips and by sixteen you had been to every continent at least once.

"Several school records show inclinations towards violence, though no reprimand was ever elevated beyond a warning. Analysis shows that these altercations exclusively occurred against predators, with a statistical preference towards canines.

"Foregoing the last year of secondary school and a myriad of sporting scholarships, you were admitted to Hayyard at seventeen. Your area of focus was initially business finance, but after discovering an affinity for parsing and manipulating legal documents, you were advised to alter course towards business law.

"During your second year, you walked onto the pulling team during a tryout session. This decision inevitably led you a more serious incident two years later.

"Hospital records show admission for one Bain Adley, a grey wolf suffering from what was described as a catastrophic muzzle fracture. Never fully regaining the ability to speak again left him significantly disadvantaged for the rest of his life and he still requires a feeding tube.

"After being arrested for attempted mammalslaughter, you made bail an hour later, and by the end of the next day, the charges were dropped, and your actions reclassified as justifiable self-defense.

"The next summer you interned for Vine Capital, shadowing their mergers and acquisitions division. The next year you graduated with relatively average marks given your pedigree, but were still offered an analyst position at the same company, which you accepted. After an uneventful two years, you quit, and made an unexpected bid for an open city council seat.

"At which point, you came to the attention of Dawn Bellwether, and eventually to The Purpose itself. During your four years of councilship, an intense level of civic engagement redefined the meaning of the position and gained you what the media described as a 'cult following'.

"Though one of Zootopia's most eligible stallions, you've remained single, opting for encounters that seem to serve ulterior motives. Even going so far as to – "

"Ricker," interrupted Jayson with a firm tone.

"What?" Ricker asked innocently with a condescending smirk at a wide-eyed Kyle.

"Anyways, your public actions during the 'Savage Crisis' are well documented, but have also served the double benefit of readying the city for three inevitabilities: In less than three months, you will be mayor of Zootopia, in less than six months, the Zootopian government will own a controlling interest in Talon Defense Incorporated, and in less than twelve months, every predator in Zootopia will have one of these." Ricker brushed a paw across his neck.

The predator relaxed in his seat and folded his arms with a smarmy, smug grin that showed far more teeth than what was generally considered friendly. Kyle looked back at him with his default defenses up, but apparently anything that he had to hide, including his most intimate secrets, had already been revealed, even if not stated directly.

It was slightly unnerving, and entirely embarrassing, but not surprising that The Purpose had this information about him. In fact, he was a little surprised that the screens behind Ricker hadn't been displaying a slideshow of scanned documents and telephoto lens shots that backed up his narration, but no such cliché had been prepared. What was most curious about this situation, was that a predator, even an apparently banded one, was working for The Purpose so directly.

Kyle still hadn't pieced all of this together yet, but wanted to keep his ignorance and reaction to his exposé guarded for now. Doing well to show as little interest as possible, he looked back to Jayson and said, "Well. It's at least good to hear that that wolf's lesson on not running his muzzle ended up sticking."

Jayson nodded in agreement, but likely knew what he was doing.

"Yeah, you deserve a bloody medal," Ricker grumbled contemptibly.

Jayson spoke up in an effort to get the conversation back on track. "Like I said, you already know Kyle. Why don't you tell him a little about yourself?"

Kyle directed his attention back to the mongoose.

Ricker took a deep breath and sighed. "Ricker Tavy. Mongoose."

He extended a paw towards Kyle. The gesture was obviously meant to be mocking, as the transparent wall made any pleasantries impossible, not to mention that given his company, Kyle would have outright refused the offer anyways.

Jayson shook his head and crossed his arms. He shook the tablet that was in his hoof. "Manners, Ricker," he reminded.

Ricker huffed again. "I'm a…" he searched for a word, " _specialist_ of sorts. I do special jobs for special people."

Jayson gave a small shake of his head again. "Ricky here is our _pet hacker_."

"That's not my name, and Makers I hate that term," Ricker interjected.

"'Pet' or 'hacker'?" Jayson asked, amused.

"Both."

"Then quit being dodgy and use your own words," Jayson snarled seriously as he uncrossed his arms and tapped on the tablet.

Ricker's neck turned yellow again, melting his defiance. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again.

He spoke softer and more slowly than he had before, but disdain underwrote his tone entirely.

"I do, _did_ , cyber infiltration for hire. I'm from wherever has the fastest connection and I'm loyal to whoever's paying the most. I don't give a fuck about this cause, and I don't give a fuck about this city."

"I came across your little operation while working another job. This knuckle-finger," he pointed at Jayson, "had his password set to 'password' and thought he was being clever by changing the 'a' to an 'at' sign."

"There wasn't much there, but enough that I couldn't help myself from digging a little deeper. You're not the only cloak and dagger game in town, you know, but you're certainly the furthest along. One of you is going to succeed eventually, and you know what I decided?" Ricker looked at the caribou and horse with his beady eyes, and waited for an answer to his apparently non-rhetorical question.

Jayson sighed, then responded dispassionately, "What did you decide, Ricker?"

"Better the fuckers I know, then the fuckers I never see coming."

"You're a real poet," Jayson commented impatiently. Kyle guessed from his tone that this wasn't the first time he'd heard this story.

"Why thank you, Mr. Talon," Ricker said with sarcastic sweetness.

"So, you just signed yourself up. Just like that?" Kyle had finally found his tongue and had decided to speak up.

"Just like that," Ricker responded as he folded his arms in confident self-adulation.

"Not exactly like that," Jayson interjected. He looked over at Kyle, then amended the story. "This was about two years ago. His grubby little paws dug just a bit too deep and got just a bit too dirty. One of our ZIA contacts managed to track him down a week after he breached us."

"We have contacts in the ZIA?" Kyle asked.

"You got contacts everywhere," Ricker said.

"So, he is a captive?" Kyle asked again, still addressing himself to Jayson.

"I told you, I volunteered," Ricker snarled with angry annoyance.

Jayson continued, as it seemed the mongoose wasn't in the mood to describe events the way he'd expected. "He managed to escape a strike team three times before he realized we weren't going to stop coming after him."

"For a bunch of cud-chewers, you're damn persistent hunters," Ricker said with slight amusement.

"He was the fourth most wanted mammal in the country for a few weeks," Jayson supplemented.

"I'd have been higher if you'd known what I was capable of," Ricker argued back to Jayson. He then directed himself back to Kyle and continued on. "So I showed em'. Figured that if I was worth expending that many resources on, I must have stumbled on something pretty important. I got back in your systems, figured out what you were up to, and sent a-" he paused a second as he searched for a word, "resume of sorts. I offered to drag these troglodytes into the twenty-first century, and even submit before them," Ricker finished with an exaggerated bow in his seat.

"All this out of the goodness of your heart?" Kyle asked, mocking sympathy.

"Don't be so glib, councilor. I've got a front row seat to the next revolution, and the resources of an entire empire to play with. I could have made it out of the country if –"

"No. You couldn't have," interrupted Jayson as he shook his head with mirth.

"I could have _easily_ made it across the border," Ricker continued on with his version of events, "and made my living elsewhere. Maybe someplace that's naturally tropical, not this simulated shit. But you caught my fancy, and I wanted to know more."

"You wanted to know more about an organization whose stated goal is the subjugation and decimation of predators?" Kyle asked skeptically. "Such as yourself," he added.

Ricker burst out laughing. "How much kool-aid have you been feeding this one?" He had directed the question to Jayson. "He's a fucking idiot!"

"Just answer him," Jayson commanded with weary impatience.

The mongoose sighed as he looked back towards Kyle. "Why the hell should I give a damn about predators? Huh?"

As much as he hated to admit it, Ricker was starting to grate on Kyle's nerves. "Because you're a predator," he said condescendingly slow.

"Fuckin' thick as a brick, this one." Ricker pointed at Kyle as he looked back at Jayson. "Those IQ scores must have been a fluke."

Jayson tapped something on the tablet and the room quieted save for the whine of a charging capacitor. The steady yellow light around Ricker's neck began to blink.

A bit frantically, Ricker looked back to Kyle and blurted out, "I don't care about preds, or prey. It's just me, and all of you." He looked back at Jayson. "Please, Mr. Talon. I'll stop, I swear it."

"Keep going," Jayson said coldly as the light continued to blink, though the capacitor had reached the peak of its arming cycle.

"Fuck society. You all parcel yourselves into groups: pred, prey, rich, poor, big, small, etcetera, etcetera. I don't give a damn about any of that. There's me, and everyone else. Those are the only groups I care about. If I hadn't made an offer, someone else would have. There's always someone else waiting to pounce, so why not me first?" Quickly he looked back to Jayson with real fear in his eyes. "Mr. Talon…" he pleaded.

Jayson tapped on the tablet again, and Ricker's neck returned to a steady green. His defiance returned more quickly this time, and with it an angry scowl.

"I hope that made you feel like a _real_ buck in front of your friend, Mr. Talon," Ricker growled. He clearly didn't like to have his chain jerked around like this, and Kyle couldn't help but suspect that he wasn't very used to it.

"Still satisfied with your choice to volunteer?" Kyle asked with a chuckle at the predator's misfortune.

Ricker gave a wry smile and paused for a second. "Absolutely," he responded firmly. "Barring the times when one of you sadists come down here trying to get your rocks off, I get to do the most satisfying work of my entire career." He crossed his arms smugly. "That is what you came down here to see, right?" He then folded his paws, looked piously to the ceiling, and in a whisper, he implored, "Please don't let it be the other thing!"

The brashness that this predator displayed was incredibly captivating and he had a dozen questions, but Kyle decided to stow them for now.

Jayson shook his head again. "Yes, Ricker. Do go on."

"Happy to, Boss!" Ricker exclaimed as he spun in his seat and began rapping on his keyboard.

The views on the monitors began disappearing one by one, and began revealing a black background centered with a string of numbers and letters displayed in a highly rendered font. As though it were a freshly forged heat of steel, it looked like brushed silver where it had cooled, and still glowed orange and dripped sparks where it had not. Spanning several monitors, it read, '7R1M35'.

Ricker held up his paws as if giving praise to the Makers. "Welcome to the Predator Real-time Information Monitoring and Engagement System! _'PRIMES'_."

Kyle looked at Jayson and whispered, "You guys really need to lay off the acronyms."

"Seriously," Jayson responded incredulously, "You work for the government and you're talking to me about acronyms?"

Kyle's eyes jutted upwards, looking at nothing in particular as he took a second to think about it. He didn't respond to Jayson and then resumed watching Ricker's presentation. Jayson smiled, then did the same.

"So, let's say you're a maniacal, narcissistic, speciest asshole and you want to take over the world." Ricker paused and looked over his shoulder with a grin. "You two wouldn't happen to know anyone like that, would you?" He shook his head at the unmoved faces and turned back to his screens. "Nah, I didn't think so." He brought up a terminal window and began typing something. "Anyways, imagining you were, what would you need?" He paused for a second, then turned around to look at his audience. After a second he frowned and sans his previous levity, he chided, "You know, councilor, you could at least pretend to have some interest in this. It's going to form the backbone of your entire criminal enterprise, you know."

Kyle thought about it. As much as he hated to have a predator, especially one this arrogant, teaching him anything, he wasn't wrong, and Kyle realized he needed to look past the vessel of delivery, and focus on what was being delivered. "Then say something interesting," Kyle responded indignantly.

Ricker narrowed his eyes and stared at the horse seriously for a few seconds. His accent getting the better of him, he growled out scornfully, "Blimey, if you're too fugen' thick to see this for what it is, you don't deserve to be 'ere. Yeah? You get me, ya daft drongo?"

Kyle simmered at the rebuke, but mostly out of fear of it's potential accuracy, a possibility suggested by Jayson's inaction to correct or comment. As Ricker turned back around, Kyle considered that the glass barrier was now serving a different function than what was its obvious intent, because had it not been there just now, he'd possibly be in the position of wiping Ricker off his hooves at this very second.

The mongoose continued on in his more jovial tone as though there had been no interruption. "Data, of course." He struck a key on his keyboard and his terminal window disappeared. White grid lines faded in, and covered the entire field of the monitors. Highly pixilated at first, each box on the grid randomly began to populate with an out of focus image. As each began resolving with more detail, Kyle could see that a mosaic of Zootopia, as seen from above, was stitching itself together in front of his eyes.

It looked similar to the normal Zoogle maps satellite views that he was familiar with, but with a much more undersaturated color pallet. In fact, it was this familiarity that turned Kyle off to the idea of accepting that there was anything special about it at all.

"Welcome to the grid, kits and colts," Ricker bellowed with arms open towards the screen, as if its purpose was self-evident merely from the fact that it existed.

Almost indistinguishably tiny green and grey dots began popping up all over the map. To the right of the screen, a black sidebar began populating a list of small, barely visible names, bulleted also with green and grey dots.

"Not even in his wildest fantasies did granddad imagine all this," Jayson said reverently in a low, near whisper.

Kyle continued to watch silently, determined to not make an ass of himself again.

"What we have here," Ricker went on, "is a real-time map of every active TAME Band and TAME app in the city."

The screen was littered with thousands, possibly tens of thousands, of dots. Most appeared as smudged clusters that slowly changed shape and size, but some stood alone. While it would have been impossible to count, the map was covered with far more grey than green, and the greens tended to be more concentrated downtown. Watching rivulets of dots flowing along streetways and sidewalks, separating and merging together at intersections, with larger flows feeding in and out of smaller ones, soothed Kyle's earlier anger and replaced it with a sort of satisfaction. It was a lot to take in, and he still didn't truly understand what he was looking at, but instinct told him that this was unmistakably a _good_ thing.

"Green dots are bands," Ricker typed something and the grey dots disappeared. "And grey dots are devices with the TAME app, but no band connected." He typed something else and the grey dots came back, while the green ones disappeared. "With the band shortage, there is only about fifty K on the street so far, but that hasn't stopped half a million app downloads already. The app lets them get free shipping on their TAME Band and view it's delivery ETA. You can almost feel their desperation."

And for an instant, Kyle could. He'd studied geographic distributions of voter confidence and issue focus before, but those had been coarse averages of crudely collected data, presented in a static format that had already been out of date weeks before it was even finished. What he was looking at now, however, was a real-time feed of the location of every single predator that had been scared, predators that he'd had a hoof in scaring, enough to come begging for some type, _any_ type, of safe harbor they could find.

' _Any port in a storm,'_ Kyle thought. The strategy was no longer mere theory, it was a real, tangible application of fundamental principles now, and it was beautiful.

Ricker tapped around and the green dots came back. "Seeing the entire map like this might be interesting, but it's not terribly exciting." In a low, devious voice, he added, "That's where I come in; making things exciting."

"So!" he began again. "Let's pretend again you're that speciest bugger who dreams of world domination. What is the most valuable information of all if you want to keep that domination?"

Ricker turned back to look at Jayson, who spoke up with a response. "Who and what is a threat to that power."

Ricker smirked and turned back around. He started viscously typing into a terminal window, but kept talking as he did so. "You can learn a lot about a mammal just by watching where he goes each day, and PRIMES has been watching for almost a month now. She's learned a lot. Every mammal in the system has a profile of where they go, when they went there, and how they got there. The system continuously updates these profiles, and once it's identified your daily routine, your _path_ , it can identify when you deviate."

The sidebar list had widened further onto the screen, and filtered itself down to only ten names. There were seven green dots, and three greys. Additionally, a percentage score showed up next to each name ranging from '98.4%' to '99.7%'. Dots on the main screen had also been reduced, and now there were only ten, though they had increased in size substantially and now possessed hovering callouts that identified the name of who each dot represented.

"Take these poor bastards, for instance." Ricker pointed up at the screen. "A ninety-nine percent consistency score." He shook his head solemnly. "These drones wake up at the same time, go to the same coffee shop, ride the same train, get to work at the same time, take lunch at the same place, take the same route home, day in and day out, every day, exactly the same. Over and over again, never deviating. These bogans aren't the ones going out to protest, or even on a spontaneous night out with their chaps. Docile, predictable, boring, no threat at all."

Ricker typed away furiously again. More windows appeared and disappeared, and finally, the list of the ten most boring predators in Zootopia was replaced with a new list of ten. The visible dots on the map changed as well.

"These fellows, are the opposite."

The dots were all grey but one now, and consistency scores ranged from '3.6%' to '18.2%'.

"These mammals have no discernable pattern; completely unpredictable." Ricker turned back to look at Kyle. "What time does your little curfew start, councilor?"

Kyle narrowed his eyes a bit at the slight, but answered evenly, "Eleven."

Ricker turned back to start typing as he also asked, "And when does it end?"

"Five in the morning."

Ricker's keyboard clacked under his paws as he added the information to his search. The list and dots changed again; all grey dots now, but with scores that remained relatively low. Each was also now connected to a red line that traced various paths throughout the city. Some only went a few blocks while one traced clear across the city on a winding and sometimes looping path. Ricker chuckled a bit. "Not for these preds."

In sizable font, a digital clock appeared on the screen reading eleven PM, though Kyle knew it to be closer to three PM. It began rolling forward at the rate of about two or three minutes per second and Kyle watched as the dots began following their red lines. About half were off the streets before one AM rolled around, but the other dots were apparently just getting started at that point and proceeded to visit a multitude of locations all throughout the night.

"These," Ricker pointed up at the list, "are your most erratic curfew breakers. These are your threats, your pesky dissidents and the damned free thinkers."

Kyle realized that he was watching a replay of an earlier evening, possibly even last night. "These preds were out after curfew?" he asked, a little taken aback.

"Yep," Ricker replied. "These are just the ten with the lowest predictability scores, though. There are probably more."

"How many more?" Kyle asked with confused frustration.

Ricker began typing again, and within a few seconds, the map of the city was almost completely buried under red tracer paths and the sidebar list had flowed off the screen. "Looks like a few hundred."

"A few hundred?" Kyle asked incredulously.

"Let's not forget, these are just the ones with a band or the app. That's still over eighty percent of the preds in the city unaccounted for. Until Mr. Talon lets me open up the throttle on this thing, we have no way of knowing what the preds without the app are doing yet."

"What's he talking about?" Kyle directed his question to Jayson.

"Kyle. If I wanted to explain everything to you myself, we wouldn't have made the trip down here." Jayson grinned a little falsely, then looked back to the screens.

Kyle's muscles tensed as he tried to keep control of himself. He wasn't enjoying being off balance like this, nor that his mentor was purposefully withholding support from him.

"Did you have a question, councilor?" Ricker asked with sardonic condescension.

Kyle swallowed. Forcing evenness into his voice, he asked, "Why can't you track all of them right now?"

Ricker spun in his chair to look at him. "Someone like you might see all this as pretty futuristic, something out of a sci-fi movie, yeah? Well, it's not. This type of geo-tracking isn't all that special, or even all that new. Every one of these sods gave us permission, whether they realize it or not, to capture their location data, and what we do with it isn't any business of theirs. But that's not even new, either. Every device on the market, Anthroid, Chantenay, _everyone_! They are already tracking you, with your consent. We're just adding our own sticky paws to the pile.

"All that hearty political debate about surveillance? The surveillance state be dammed. Free enterprise is operating with impunity. All this-" Ricker motioned to all the equipment behind him, "isn't even illegal, mate. Everyone who downloaded the app gave us permission to do all this when they were tapping accept on all those disclaimers. Unfortunately, that leaves the ones who did not download it, out of our purview. For now."

"And you have a way of getting to them, I assume?" Kyle asked, growing tired of how self-serving this presentation was.

"Remember those contacts at the Agency? Well, let's just say we have ways of getting to the ones that haven't accepted the revocation of their basic privacy rights. But Mr. Talon here doesn't want to tip our paw too early, so I do what I can with what data we have until we're ready for more _aggressive_ tactics."

"What do you mean? Like a virus, or something?" Kyle asked.

"Or something, yes," Ricker responded obliquely.

Jayson finally decided to speak up. "The timeline has us going fully operational shortly after you take office. By the time anyone detects an intrusion, they'll all be banded anyways."

"That's when the real fun starts," Ricker exclaimed excitedly. "You haven't even had a taste of what PRIMES can do."

Even though he was a predator, Kyle would have to concede that he was certainly all in. The surrender was only internal, of course, and his outside manifestation was still that of disinterest and disdain for the thing in front of him.

"Cheer up, councilor. Your face is long enough," Ricker laughed out heartily as he spun back in his chair to face his keyboard. Collecting himself with a sigh, he began typing more commands.

"Let's take a look at that wayward curfew breaker, shall we?"

The Zootopian map cleared itself of dots and lines, save for one. It was the one that Kyle had noticed earlier that had extended a red tracer all the way across the city. It started in Savannah Central, wound through Sahara Square, Tundra Town, the Meadowlands, back to Tundra Town, and finally terminating in the north-eastern region of the Rainforest District.

Being with Jayson all day, and especially being down here, gave Kyle the sense that it was already a year from now, and they had succeeded in taking control. He of course knew where and when he really was, but an arrogant overconfidence in victory was fueling anger at the thought that there were predators out there somewhere in defiance of the law; _his_ law.

"Now, it might be interesting to see where this - ," Ricker studied the screen for a moment, "Mr. Baley. Oh! He's a wolf; one of your favorites, mate!" Ricker turned his head back and winked at the unamused horse. "Anyways, it might be interesting to see where he is and where he was, but PRIMES can do you a few better than that.

"When concerned with an uprising, lone wolf, as it were, attacks are actually desirable outcomes. They keep your constituency fearful, and gives a faceless, endless enemy to unite against. A unity you can direct anywhere you want: at preds, prey, the freedom of the citizens themselves; your choice. No, lone wolves aren't who we are concerned about. It's the social ones that pose a problem."

Ricker had been typing the whole time he was talking and by the end, his paw had been raised dramatically before it dropped to strike a final key, synchronizing the clack with his final word.

A new window popped up over the map of the city, it's size spanning several monitors. It was a simple grey box containing a translucent green arc following a circular path about the center. One by one, names started populating the sidebar again. After several seconds, more than a dozen names had appeared, and the loading notification disappeared to reveal the whole map again. In addition to the wandering red path, there were now several grey ones roving around the city as well, surrounded by white circles where they intersected the main red line. There were as many circles as there were names on the list.

"And it looks like this one is of the social variety," Ricker said with a note of caution in his voice. "Let's see what he was up to."

Kyle watched as several dots began following their paths as the timestamp at the top of the screen began shifting through the evening hours. Around two AM, it paused and Ricker did something that made the screen zoom towards one of the white circled intersections. The screens covered enough of Kyle's field of vision and he had been focusing on them hard enough, that the movement gave him the temporary sensation of falling, to which he did his best to not react to.

Ricker turned back to look at Jayson and Kyle again. "Now we're getting into the illegal part." He grinned wide as he turned back around.

The view gave the impression of a shifting angle, but when it came to rest again, the display had gone from satellite overheads of the city, to what must have been closed circuit television footage from one of the city's many surveillance cameras, as he was now looking at a view of a street corner.

The footage played forward and it could be plainly seen as a grey wolf entered frame from one direction, and another entered from a different. The two could be seen speaking for several minutes as the footage sped forward. Eventually they went their separate ways and the street corner became empty once more.

"What was that? What were they talking about?" Kyle asked.

"Audio storage isn't online yet," Ricker responded.

As Kyle was considering the implications of 'yet', he was overcome by a sudden desire to know something else. "How did you get access to that footage?"

"Courtesy of the previous administration's cyber security negligence." It was Jayson who had answered. "All captured and stored at the expense of the taxpayer. Welcome to twenty-first century tyranny."

"All that video is stored at no expense to us, but the audio is a different story," Ricker went on. "That should be remedied soon. When it is, we will have access to a fairly comprehensive record of everything that happens in the city. But, hearing what they are saying isn't as valuable as you might think it is, and we can gather a lot of insight without it."

More typing and the map zoomed back out to the satellite view.

"If I keep analyzing our acolyte here, I can break down his whole social network. I can expand the time horizon to see everyone he's ever crossed paths with."

The red line on the screen lengthened considerably and crisscrossed itself so many times across so many parts of the city, that Kyle could no longer keep track of it. More and more names appeared on the list as more and more grey lines began marring the cityscape.

"Then everyone they've ever crossed paths with, and so on and so on."

The screen looked like the playful, random scribbles of a young colt in a coloring book. Kyle couldn't make sense of any of it, and couldn't imagine how anyone else could, either.

"Those empiric resources I mentioned earlier? Computing power. Lots and lots of computing power." Ricker spun in his seat to face his visitors again while the screen became covered in rapidly shifting webs of white lines, each pattern appearing and disappearing in rapid succession, as if the system was trying each one out, and deciding it didn't like it.

"Someone like you wouldn't appreciate it, but this is why I'm here. You might think I'm some kind of _captive_ ," he looked at Kyle, "or some kind of _pet_ ," he scowled at Jayson, "but down here, not even the Makers can hide from me."

Just as he finished, the monitors behind him had settled on a web configuration that they apparently liked and it remained fixed on the screen. A new notification window had appeared and read, _'Social Network Analysis Complete'_.

Ricker spun around and began skimming the analysis and manipulating a few of the controls.

"Like I was saying, it's the social wolves you have to watch out for. What we are seeing here," Ricker pointed up to the white webbing that covered the screen, "is a map of all Mr. Baley's associates. PRIMES has analyzed how he's connected to each of them, and how each of them are connected to each other."

Kyle had no way of knowing if any of this was real, or just some elaborate con-job, but he was pretty sure Jayson wouldn't have taken an interest in something that was pure fantasy, so he forced himself to believe what the predator was saying, even though he understood very little of how it was being done.

"That's where things get… _interesting_ ," Ricker cooed in satisfaction. "When scoping out organized opposition, it's going to be the activists and paw soldiers that will be most visible to PRIMES, as they are the ones out there actually doing stuff, _diverging_ from a predictable path. But you don't want to spend your whole regime picking off little fish, you want to catch the big ones." Ricker stopped and considered his words for a second. "Or maybe a bush, or carrot, in your case," he snickered before going on. "Now, those types don't tend to see as much action, but as organizers, they are far more dangerous. After PRIMES identifies the deviants, it can follow them back to the nest, so to speak, and determine who is the most influential member of their group; their pack leader. As a tyrant, you never want these opposition groups to disappear completely, but PRIMES will let you know who to target to keep them perpetually off balance. In the case of this one-" Ricker brought up a window containing profile stats on a particular predator, "a Mr. Nychi." Mocking disbelief, Ricker exclaimed, "Another wolf? You might be onto something, councilor. Maybe they are up to something."

Kyle's brow furrowed at yet another insult, but proceeded to observe silently.

"Mr. Nychi here has been identified as the most influential member in his network, and his network has been flagged as a moderate risk based on the lack of consistency of its members. If you were interested in _dispatching_ someone, he'd be a great candidate, but it might also be more interesting to let him go for the time being and watch what he does. Once we're fully operational, we'll have access to far more data and this type of analysis will happen automatically and continuously."

"Does it ever get it wrong?" Kyle asked.

"Don't tell me you are worried about offing the wrong pred, now," Ricker retorted vitriolically.

Kyle realized he was right and guessed it didn't actually matter; any predator the system marked as a target was excuse enough for him.

"Now for the fun part. Care to see our naughty wolf?" Ricker asked with hopeful excitement.

"Show us," Jayson said expectantly, a little joy in his own voice. Kyle guessed he knew a little about what was going to happen next.

Ricker tapped away and the screen cleared. Red crosshairs began scanning the city and after a few seconds, the image zoomed in on a block of downtown, two green dots near the top left corner of it.

"Ah! One of the money hounds, I see," Ricker said as he leaned in to read the screen closest to him. "He works at _JP Maregan_ and it looks like he's currently at a coffee shop across the street. Let's get a closer look, shall we," he said deviously.

The view adjusted angle as CCTV footage of a small outside café transitioned on screen. Ricker grabbed a joystick next to his keyboard and the camera panned and zoomed to get a better look at one of the tables. A green box appeared around one of the patrons, a red-furred wolf in a navy blazer. He was sitting across from a ridiculously patterned sub-Saharan painted wolf who was in similar attire. Both were clearly wearing TAME Bands.

Jayson laughed out loud. "Mrs. Maregan called me the day after the announcement to negotiate priority deliveries of bands for her traders. I said, 'of course'."

"Shall we do a demonstration of the 'E' in PRIMES, Mr. Talon?" Ricker asked.

Jayson got a little control of himself and replied, "Definitely. Let's see a level six, for ten seconds."

Kyle wasn't exactly sure what they were talking about, but he watched as Ricker typed some more before stopping and looking up at the live image. To Kyle's utter delight, he watched ten uninterrupted seconds tick by as the red wolf writhed in agony on the floor of the café. The image was silent, but Kyle could hear plenty in his imagination.

The café's other patrons had taken notice immediately, and the wolf was now the complete center of attention as some backed away, other stood frozen, and some took out smartphones to capture the moment.

The table he was at had flipped, and his panicked companion appeared to have considered touching the high-voltage canine, but decided against it. Pure horror played across his face as he realized he would be unable to do anything but watch.

A smile crept over Kyle's face as the wolf continued convulsing. Far sooner than he would have liked, the predator fell limp and thrashed no longer.

Ricker turned around to find Kyle grinning like a fool. "You're fucking sick. You know that?"

"What can I say? That was impressive," Kyle responded, unfazed. He really was starting to see it. While he might not understand specifically how this was all being accomplished, he was from the generation that had grown up in the information age, and he was more than comfortable accepting that systems like this existed and was more than capable of conceptualizing what possibilities this would open in the future. He was awestruck with what he had seen so far and he wanted to see more.

Ricker stopped typing and spun in his chair to face Kyle. With a pathetic frown and wide, nearly watering eyes, he cooed out with sardonic exaggeration, "Awwwwww… Kyle… Coming from you? That means…" his voice hitched. "That means-" he seamlessly transitioned in tone and mannerisms to completely serious contempt, "less than nothing coming from you." He crossed his arms then kicked with his leg to spin the chair back around.

Kyle's anger returned and his nostrils flared as he let out an irritated snort. He often found solace in the memory of the sound and feeling of that shattering lupine mandible under the force of his hoof in times of strife. The touchstone did nothing to calm him this time, but he kept his feet planted to the ground as he silently ground his teeth together.

…

"How on earth can you trust that thing?!" Kyle yelled accusingly.

They were back in Jayson's office. The caribou had taken his seat but Kyle had remained standing, too worked up to relax.

"You can't trust preds! Especially not some snake-eater! What the hell are we doing?!" Kyle continued to pace around and Jayson seemed content to continue watching him exhaust his animus. "I get the value of the system, but what the hell are you letting one of _those_ things at the controls for? What if he turns it on us?! I don't know about you, but I'm no cyber expert, and it seems like you've been giving him some pretty invasive tools to wreak havoc with. Do you have any idea how risky that is? Does _she_ know?! Do _they_ know?!"

Kyle was both out of breath and questions it seemed, but Jayson continued to watch him calmly. "Sit down, Kyle," he said softly.

Kyle neighed rudely, but then walked towards the seat and took it with a look of angered irritation on his face.

"It's not enough to just hate them, Kyle," Jayson started out slowly. "We can do so much more than that, but it takes patience, doing things that we don't like, and yes, sometimes a little risk as well."

Kyle shook his head with more frustration. "I don't mean any offence, Jayson, but I really don't think you understand the risk he poses. Giving him access to all that technology; I really don't think you understand what he could be capable of in today's world."

"Ahh, there it is," Jayson replied with a smile that unnerved Kyle. " _Today's world_ ," he mused. "You must think I'm from yesterday's world, then? That I'm too old to understand what technology is capable of?" His voice began to rise in both anger and volume. "That I struggle to understand this new digital age and that I probably reminisce often of the _good ol' days_ when we had paper and pencils and did things with our hooves?" Jayson's voice had been becoming progressively more retributive as he spoke and he finished the diatribe with a shout. "That I'm some washed up old fool?!"

Kyle was as uncomfortable as he'd ever been and his heart raced. Seemingly at odds with his deep voice, he stammered out, "N-no, Sir, I-I just – "

"Think you're so much fucking smarter than me?" Jayson growled.

Kyle had never felt like this even with his own father. The disappointed anger being directed at him was a knife in his chest. His intention had been to help Jayson, not insult him, but he'd clearly failed that goal. He sat in silence, unable to meet Jayson's gaze.

It was almost a minute before Jayson broke the silence. "Obviously I don't trust him, Kyle." His voice was still stern, but much calmer and even now. "If you had realized that, which Makers only know why you wouldn't have, you might have asked me how we are planning on controlling him. So, for your sake, let's assume that is what you meant to ask just now, shall we?"

Kyle ground his teeth with unbearable embarrassment as he listened to the response.

"The way we found Ricky was through loyalists we have imbedded in the ZIA. It doesn't take many mammals to control an organization like that, just a few in the right places and the resources of the entire organization are practically at our disposal. They found Ricker because they have systems in place that can detect the types of things he does. Those same systems can detect what he, what _we_ , are doing now, too.

"His activities are being monitored continually. He's one mammal watching thirty million. There's an entire herd of ZIA agents watching just him."

"I didn't turn Talon Defense into the company it is today by understanding and micromanaging every single detail. I got here by being able to recognize talent, understanding how to structure incentives, and then delegating."

"You need to be able to recognize talent, Kyle. No matter what species. You'll be passing up opportunity otherwise. There will be plenty of preds for you to beat the tar out of soon enough – hell, we'll be able to have them delivered to you specifically for that purpose, if you like – but you aren't going to get anywhere by swinging wildly at every single one you set eyes on."

Kyle nodded his head slowly, then looked up to meet Jayson's eyes. "I understand. I meant no offence."

"The only offence I'll take from you, Kyle, is if I turn out to be wrong about your potential."

"You aren't," Kyle said firmly, finding his footing once again.

"What other questions did you have?" Jayson asked as he relaxed back in his seat.

"If the ZIA already has some of these abilities, why duplicate them here? Why not just have them monitoring instead?" Kyle asked.

"Plausible deniability," Jayson grinned at the phrase. "They can marshal the resources to monitor what we are doing, and while they are technically capable of doing this sort of intelligence gathering in house, it would be a lot of money and time to hide from oversight committees. Ricker was correct about corporate Zootopia having the ability to engage in the type of surveillance that those sorts of agencies can only dream about, all without a single mention of _constitutionality_." Jayson finished with a chuckle at the irony.

"How much money are we talking about here?" Kyle inquired.

As though it were a discussion about petrol prices, Jayson responded casually, "In the system you just saw? Quarter billion."

Kyle looked at him incredulously.

"That stock freeze has made it so easy to move things around. My accountants made it look like that went into the TAME R&D budget, but we all know that was developed ages ago. And, to be entirely fair, PRIMES is what the city, the whole world really, ordered from us anyways. In a way, we have a mandate from the entire world to do what we are doing."

"How do you mean?"

"Where do you think we got all that money?" Jayson asked with a grin.

Kyle considered for a second if this was a trick question or not, but decided that he could scarcely do anything to be more of a disappointment today. "Sales?" he ventured.

"Exactly," Jayson replied jovially. "Talon wouldn't be doing so well if no one was afraid of predators. No one buys our products to keep themselves safe from rabbits, deer, elephants, or mice. They buy it for protection against wolves, tigers, bears, and foxes. Every dollar we have is the direct result of fear of predators. Are we so insane as to think we don't have a _duty_ to answer their call? If there wasn't a _predator problem_ , Talon would have filed for bankruptcy long ago. This company's success is directly linked to how pervasive the fear of predators is. And business is good, Kyle. It's really good. It would be wrong for me, for _us_ , to not use this success to do what everyone is demanding we do."

"The Purpose, _our_ purpose is to bring that hidden fear to the surface and do something about it. They might not realize that's what they're asking for, and if they did, they wouldn't have the gall to ask for it directly, but that is where we come in, Kyle. It is our _responsibility_ to do what they can't."

Kyle sat there in silence as the words sank in. Jayson always had a way of putting things in perspective for him, and today was no different. Everything he was saying made perfect sense because it was so obvious once it had been revealed. He felt, but didn't show, more embarrassment and self-loathing for how he had treated Jayson a few minutes ago. Only a mammal of true wisdom could see such obvious truths before they were pointed out. Kyle realized he apparently had a very long way to go before he reached that level.

"Listen," Jayson consoled. "It's been a long day, and I realize that some of this has gotten you pretty wound up."

He paused for a moment while studying the pensive horse.

"You enjoyed our visit to the catacombs, yes?" The question was more rhetorical as Jayson surely knew he did.

Kyle nodded and didn't feel embarrassment at the admission. Jayson knew who and what he was, and accepted it.

"Well, there is an… _event_ of sorts planned next week. I'd like to invite you back to the mansion if you're not busy. I think it will help you blow off some of this steam I see building. Would you like that?"

Kyle nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would."

"Good. I'll send you specifics just as soon as I have them."

Jayson deactivated the security measures protecting the office, then stood and walked Kyle to the door. As they touched wrists, Kyle realized for the first time what it was about Jayson that was different from any other mammal he had ever known: As a horse, he was taller than just about everyone he encountered, including Jayson, but Jayson was the only one he ever looked up to.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Notes:

First let me apologize for not being around lately! Things have been super busy at work these past few months. I hope they calm down so that I can get back on a more regular schedule soon. Believe me, this hiatus was not because I am out of ideas and it kills me to not be writing them down, so hang in there.

Ironically, since my profession is software and algorithm development, this chapter was meant to use some of that knowledge and experience, and it was that very job that kept me from writing this.

I hope I didn't lose too many of you while you waited, and if I did, I hope you are reading this eventually after you came back!

Fun with slang: 'drongo' is an Australian term meaning 'dope' and it's origin can be traced back to a racehorse in the 20's that never won a race.

As much fun as it is to put myself in the position of being the 'bad guys', Nick and Fin will be back next chapter and up to their usual antics once more. This chapter was heavily influenced by some of the authors that I am reading through right now: Blake Crouch and Daniel Suarez. They both do really well of merging high sci-fi into a contemporary setting. Like this chapter might have done for you, a lot of their writing seems scarily plausible.

In other news:

It's coming up on one year since I saw the movie. It was the weekend after the 4th of July last year. I had no idea it was going to lead to all this when I picked it out that night. I still remember falling in love with Nick during the felony tax evasion scene.

Since I last posted, Three Months a Fox has been selected as one of ZNN's featured stories. Check them out at .

Fatescanner was also kind enough to build this a 'TV Tropes' page. Find it at and search 'three months a fox' to find it. It's really well done and can give you a quick recap on all the things that have happened.

Very big thank you to fatescanner and eng050599 for editing this!


	25. Predxit

…

Day 46

…

[znn com/breaking-alerts/rss/]

-BREAKING ALERT: Savage Spotted in Pawlantis

-Predator Crewmembers Rotated Off ISS: ZASA Claims Transfers 'Routine'

…

[znn com/news/preyxit-possible-predxit-demanded]

:Preyxit Possible While Predxit Demanded

 _By Davis Treeseeder_

With seemingly no end in sight to the deadly onslaught of savage predator violence, manifesting itself in multiple attacks per day, many Zootopians have had enough. In what economists and sociologists are calling 'Preyxit', estimates range from the tens of thousands into the hundreds of thousands of prey mammals packing up and leaving the city. Falling confidence in the ZPD's ability to provide safety, and in the failing economy to provide stability, many see few reasons to stay. Experts predict that this pattern will continue to expand and as more and more mammals leave, even greater numbers are expected to follow.

Not everyone is prepared to migrate, however, and the daily peaceful protests outside City Hall have begun to coalesce around a single demand: Predxit.

"Why should we leave? They [predators] are the problem. They should leave," said one protester who chose not to be identified.

Another, carrying a sign reading 'Predxit Now, Hayworth Now', had this to say when asked whether she thought predators should be removed by force: "Absolutely. They have been terrorizing us [prey] for thousands of years. We should have forced them out a long time ago."

Faced with the prospect of mass migrations out of Zootopia, unsubstantiated reports have begun to circulate that the Angartha city council has begun considering travel restrictions for Zootopians. This coming on the heels of rumors that the alleged savage attack in Pawlantis was committed by a Zootopia City native. If Angartha is successful, other cities would surely follow.

…

[pouncehart com/headlines/rss]

-Preds BANNED from Space!

-Unconfirmed Reports of Pawlantis Recidivism Event Remain Unconfirmed

…

[pouncehart com/anti-pred-violence-spreads]

:Anti-Pred Violence Spreads

 _By Wexley Rhodes_

An anti-predation demonstration outside City Hall this morning turned violent after clashing with a smaller group of counter-protesters. Around 1000 mammals in total showed up for what became a riotous brawl.

No longer content with the cover of darkness, mammals wearing masks and clad in all-black clothing were seen to jump several predators and brazenly beat them in the street to the uproarious applause and cheering of the crowd. Some escaped with only minor injuries, while others were not so fortunate.

In a shocking video captured by a citizen journalist, a lynx was bashed in the head with a bike lock by a still unidentified black-masked individual. The victim was taken to one of the downtown triage clinics, where he received several stitches, and remains in stable condition.

Several hours after it began, the ZPD declared the gathering an unlawful assembly and forced the remaining rioters to disperse; burnt trash cans and broken windows left in their wake. The ZNG was not called in, but many questioned why the ZPD did not intervene sooner. Multiple officers, who refused to be identified, claimed that they had received general stand down orders from the office of the Mayor, but official sources stated that all ZPD officers had acted in accordance with standard operational protocols throughout the event.

…

…

…

The pitched ring of the steel wrench clattering hard against the cold concrete was nearly as violent to Nick's sensitive ears as was the stream of profanities flooding out of Finnick's muzzle. He'd winced at the first sound, but over the last few days he'd become inured to the second.

There had been no shortage of clanging or cursing during that time, as the two foxes labored to repair the newly rediscovered Mustang. With the pawpsicle markets still closed, pretending to be mechanics had become their newest hustle, though, in retrospect, it seemed that they had only succeeded in hustling themselves.

Nick's mechanical inclinations did not go very far past the basics, but his generalized cleverness and problem solving abilities worked together to squeeze a little more mileage out of the things he did know. Finnick was quite a bit more knowledgeable, but still nowhere near enough to get them to a point where the car would start, let alone run reliably. Most of Finnick's knowledge had been gathered through trial, and mostly error, while tinkering with his van. Nick wasn't entirely convinced that those skills necessarily transferred to this project, the Mustang being a far more refined beast to be dealing with, but it was better than nothing, and they were hardly strangers with making do with what they had.

Though, if he was being honest with himself, Finnick was the only reason that they had made any progress at all. An overabundance of self-confidence in his acumen, and a reckless tenacity had driven the project much further than what Nick had originally imagined possible. It was becoming more and more likely that this wasn't just some lost cause to pass the time with, and that there really could be a functional sports car at the end of their journey.

While Nick was more partial to restraint rather than more injury, especially given his current state, there was a price to be paid for throwing such caution to the wind, as was the fennec's style. As had already happened a dozen times, and that was just counting today, the smaller fox had overextended himself on the wrench, and when the bolt he'd been working to loosen had finally broken free, or more likely the wrench had slipped off, he'd rammed his paw full force into one of the many metallic hazards inside the engine compartment.

Nick had chided him enough for it today, so he held his tongue and attempted to keep his expression neutral. However, his traditional smugness had indelibly tainted his reputation long ago, and his silence was par for any remark he could have dreamed up. Using one of his much less practiced traits, he attempted to be supportive.

"Need some help?" he asked casually, already reaching for a clean rag in anticipation of the new abrasions that he knew his friend had just garnered.

Finnick didn't respond, and continued to grumble to himself, but Nick took that as an affirmative. He put down the piston head he was cleaning and strolled over to Finnick.

They were both pretty filthy with grease, but Finnick's white sandy fur showed the grime a lot more than Nick's dark red did, while Nick's formerly white chest wrap gave grungy testament that he hadn't entirely avoided getting his paws dirty, either.

Nick stepped up to the engine compartment and looked inside. It was mostly empty, save for a frustrated fennec, and he could see through to the floor below. The wrench had fallen through the opening and bounced out from under the frame, so he bent down to grab it.

"Which one is it?" he asked as he looked back under the hood.

Finnick, still grimacing, didn't say anything, but pointed to one of the rusty bolts.

Nick peered in at it and lined up the wrench.

Whether karma had made a mistake, or was just setting him up for deeper disappointment later, he couldn't be sure, but the car just so happened to be dwarf class. It would still have been drivable at a standard size range, but he wouldn't have been surprised if it had turned out to be an undriveable titan or micro class. As luck would have it, though, the vehicle's scale was a perfect fit for his own.

This meant that while Finnick could easily scamper about the insides of its workings, Nick's interaction with the vehicle was limited by the exact same constraints as any standard-sized mammal working on any standard-sized car, causing the angle at which he was forced to reach his arm in to be decidedly awkward, particularly with his injuries restricting his movements. Even so, at almost three times Finnick's mass, any disadvantage he had in leverage was more than offset out by the amount of force he could apply to the troubled fastener.

The bolt broke free, but Nick had been ready for the suddenness and his knuckles did not suffer the same abuse that Finnick's repeatedly had.

Nick pulled his paws out of the way and Finnick got to work unscrewing it the rest of the way. He pulled it free, then looked up at Nick as he fidgeted idly with it between his digits.

"What now, Slick?" Finnick asked expectantly.

Nick cocked his head and skewed his ears slightly at the question. So far, the leadership he'd exhibited during this endeavor could have been described as passive at best, and Finnick, being most familiar with auto mechanics, had been the one who'd taken most of the initiative after they'd decided to try and fix it up.

'Fixing' it was what they were calling it, but in Nick's opinion, if it had needed any real fixing, they probably would not have made any progress at all.

Upon finding it last week, Nick had been far too exhausted to explore the space properly. After they had finished unloading his things from Finnick's van, he'd remitted himself to hours of staring at the ceiling in John's office, overcome by a fatigue so fierce it hurt, and an agony so deep it kept him awake. The next day, Finnick had returned and they'd begun the initial survey of the discovery.

The lost room had two manual garage doors that led to the outside, but both had been locked from the inside, and had prevented Nick from entering during his previous investigations of the warehouse's exterior. After a liberal application of oil, and trying out only four of the many keys in John's desk, he'd freed the rusted padlock. Opening the doors had allowed in some much-needed fresh air and more than enough daylight to switch their nocturnal vision back to full color.

It had just looked like a chaotic mess of parts to Nick, but for Finnick, the underlying order had quickly become clear to him, and he realized that whoever had abandoned this project previously had already gone through most of the difficult steps in restoring it.

What Nick had mistaken for a full car during the initial finding, had only been the frame of one. The wheels had been removed and the whole thing was up on blocks. Other than it being in desperate need of a wax, there was no evidence of any rust infestation, and under the dust, the paint was still a rich red and the chrome a lustrous silver.

Checking under the hood revealed another critical component that was missing, but that part, along with the missing tiers, was quickly located by Finnick, and was in pieces scattered across a nearby workbench. A handy engine hoist hung from the ceiling, and seemed eager to lift the cylinder block once more.

At first, Nick had viewed the disassembled mass cynically and had been quick to relegate the project as something too far over their heads to even attempt. However, where Nick saw an irreparability, Finnick could see a puzzle begging to be put back together.

As he had explained it, the difficult part of any restoration was the disassembly, cleaning, and sourcing of replacement parts for the engine. It appeared that most of that had already been done, and despite having been so close to the harbor for decades, the garage had done well in protecting the parts and the elements had not spoiled them. In theory, it was going to be as simple as greasing and reassembling the components. That was, if all the requisite pieces were still present. The only way to know for sure, though, was to try and start building it.

Events had gone relatively smoothly at first as many of the parts seemed to fit together in rather obvious ways. Selecting which bolts and screws secured them together had been slightly harder, but followed a similar pattern. Late in the second day, much of the initial work on the engine had to be undone, as constructing some parts of it out of order seemed to preclude the possibility of constructing other sections of it later.

Old, and highly detailed technical manuals had also been found among the parts, but attempting to understand their contents presented nearly as much of a challenge as any of their physical tasks. Some aggressive Zoogeling had assisted in deciphering them and soon the two foxes had gotten back on track and had been successful in avoiding similar pitfalls since.

As it stood from Nick's lay-perspective, it appeared that they might be in the home stretch. The engine, while still outside of the car, looked like he imagined an engine should, and after Finnick had spent the morning preparing all the internal connections, mechanical and otherwise, the frame was now ready to receive its heart.

Nick pondered all of this as he thought over Finnick's question.

"I figured we'd put the engine in the car?" he replied indecisively.

"We have the tools to do that," Finnick responded with gruffness tinged by disappointment. They'd both become invested in the project.

"Do you know what we would need?" Nick asked.

"Not exactly," Finnick admitted with a frown and droop of his ears. "You don't happen to know any mechanics, do you?" Finnick questioned half-jokingly.

"I know everyone," Nick replied with a smug smirk. The response had all the qualities of a reflex, and he realized that he'd spoken before he'd really thought about the question.

He hadn't lied; he did actually know a mechanic. He'd met one very recently, in fact. Part of him wanted to believe that the contact had been lost when his phone had been smashed, but he knew that the replacement he'd purchased yesterday had successfully downloaded backups of his data from the cloud and that if he pulled it out now, and began typing the letters 'S-K' into the search bar, the top result would surely be the name 'Skye' addended with a 'lips' emoji.

She'd entered her details into his phone during one of the intermissions to their more memorable activities on the night he'd first, and last, seen her, but he had completely forgotten that she'd done that until now. At the time, she'd commanded that he give her a call someday, but he doubted that this was the particular context in which she'd imagined him taking her up on the offer.

Zoogle and their own ingenuity had taken them as far as it was going to, and if Finnick wasn't even willing to pretend he knew what to do next, then there really was only one option available if the project was to continue. It had done a tremendous amount of good for both of them, but especially Nick, to have had something to keep themselves occupied with during the past week, and neither was ready to have the venture be over quite this abruptly.

"Well then, give him a call," Finnick instructed as he hopped down from inside the engine compartment, and walked out from under the frame.

Nick couldn't help but chortle in nervous amusement. Finnick was going to have a heyday with him when he found out who _she_ was. "Yeah. Sure thing," he replied with slight unease.

…

There were very few sectors of the economy which were not having the life smothered out of them by the Savage Crisis, but it seemed that the automotive services industry was one of the few managing to keep its snout above water, and unlike Nick and Finnick, some foxes actually had gainful employment as their primary source of income. Waiting most of the day for Skye to get off work was no bother for either though, who, after scrounging up some lunch, had enjoyed the afternoon in a dried creek bed near the warehouse, sunning themselves while blissfully drifting in and out of consciousness.

Nick's ears roused before he did, and articulated to target the sound of a vehicle coming down the road. It was still probably more than a mile away, but he could hear it clearly. The service road to get to the warehouse only went to this one place, making it unlikely that someone had turned onto it by mistake, and its gravelly constitution made a distinctive crunching noise under the weight of auto tires making it easy to distinguish it from other vehicles passing by on other roads. Undoubtedly, it was Skye.

As his thought processes spooled back up, his capacity to feel dread initiated slightly before his ability to suppress it, and the feeling made him physically ill for a brief moment before he was able to regain control of himself. It was the purer form of the dreariness he'd been experiencing regarding her arrival since the moment he'd texted her the address, after she'd accepted his request for assistance.

His current apprehension had the same roots as the reluctance he'd had before revealing his sanctuary to Finnick when he'd been forced to move. That had been more than a week ago and doing so had not hastened any of the current world-ending calamities. He still couldn't quite shake the notion that he had done something wrong, but the knot in his stomach had become more acclimatized to his agitated state in the days since it had happened.

During that time, he'd done a fair bit of introspection as to what exactly it was about this place that made him feel safe, and why he suffered from the superstition that inviting any other mammal into it would risk breaking that magical property.

Other than knowing that Nick slept somewhere, Finnick still didn't know about John's office, nor what it meant to him, and the plan was to keep it that way. It was John's office that was the most important thing to him here, and he had been projecting its novelty onto the entire warehouse. Now that he had been forced to think about it, or justify it to himself, he wasn't positive which, the rest of the warehouse was now no more than a building to him. There was something to be said about the protection that it provided to his secret place, and the fact that a layer of defenses had been breached still bothered him, but much less so than when he imagined the same thing happening to the office.

As much as he hated to admit it to himself, whether by magic, or worse, pure sentimentality, the office was important to him, as it had been important to his father. It had been one of the few constants in his life and he used it as a rock to ground himself. It was also his weakness, and in these dark times, he was beginning to regret that he'd become so attached to it.

He'd been trying his best to keep it out of his head, but if he was being honest with himself, Mr. Big had violated those defenses long ago anyway, even if he had only recently become aware of the transgression. He had gotten used to the idea of Finnick, Mr. Big, and a sleuth of bears knowing where the warehouse was. In time, he'd get used to Skye knowing, too.

He shook off his ruminations. Given the pitch of the approaching engine and increasing volume of crunching gravel, she would arrive any second now. Over the past couple weeks, he had fallen into a more casual state of mind with Finnick, and he needed to psych himself up if he was going to be interacting with someone else. Not that his outward appearance would be any less nonchalant, it would merely be more intentionally so. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.

Getting up from their lounge chairs, Nick gave a full-bodied stretch with his arms above his head, groaning contentedly as he did so. He and Finnick climbed up out of the gulch just in time to see a dust cloud and green-bodied pickup truck approaching the bridge.

"What did you say his name was?" Finnick asked as they watched the approaching truck from the side of the stone bridge.

He'd had enough time to restore his smugness, and in his mind, he had converted the potential embarrassment of her identity into something he could be proud of. Namely, that his list of contacts included foxy vixens. Nick chuckled again and said playfully, "I never said."

Finnick would have his curiosity satisfied momentarily as the green truck pulled up next to them and the passenger side window rolled down.

"I'm looking for a scraggly fox. You seen any around here?" Skye called out through the opening.

"Just us, I'm afraid," Nick replied back smoothly.

She chuckled, then looked him up and down. With a sarcastic sigh she replied, "You'll do."

Nick grinned and then pointed over at the warehouse. "You can park inside."

The two foxes hopped into the bed of truck and she drove into the warehouse, parking next to Finnick's van. Finnick didn't say anything, but glared at Nick suspiciously. Nick's silent reply was merely a contented grin. They hopped back out and walked around to greet her as she stepped out.

While it had been her aggressive style that had originally lured Nick in, she had a rugged beauty that did not do her any disservice. Even after working all day, her ears were still perky and her snow-white fur was still fluffy. Drawing from previous experience, Nick knew it to be very soft as well. This was all despite wearing overalls smudged and stained with grease and motor oil. Nick hadn't anticipated that he'd have to work this hard to keep the baser parts of him in check, but the more animal part of his mind was trying to push exhilaration past his façade. Not so much that he couldn't control it, but enough so that he was more than aware of it.

Part of him felt a pang of guilt at his attraction towards the vixen, and he paused to consider its meaning before roughly pushing the thoughts away and dragging himself back into the moment. He fixed a practiced, but false smile on his muzzle as he prepared to more appropriately greet the new arrival.

Her expression as she stepped out of the pickup had initially been excitement mixed with anticipation, but as she began stepping towards him, she slowed and her expression changed. She cocked her head slightly and sniffed the air slightly, and looked regretful to do so.

Nick wasn't exactly sure what the problem was, but her question keyed him in on it immediately.

"Makers above, Nick, who did _that_ to you?" she asked with a combination of grief and anger as she took another step towards him.

Nick, slightly taken aback, hadn't given much thought to what he looked like for quite a few days, and Finnick wasn't usually the type to offer comment. He quickly realized that his scent must have been pretty off due to the healing process that his body was still going through, but he hadn't really been giving much focus to that, either.

For the most part, his damage was covered by fur. There were some spots on his snout that that had been defurred during his incident, and he had originally covered the spots with medical tape. He'd been able to stop doing that a few days ago as the patches there had already begun filling in with fuzzy undercoat. His muzzle fur was pretty short anyways, and he guessed it would grow back fully within a few weeks.

His left eye socket was still a little black around the rim, but that was mostly covered by fur as well. His open shirt did reveal a chest wrap that went the full length of his torso, but even under that, all damage he had suffered was internal.

Taking a discreet sniff, he concentrated on his own scent. He had to admit, it wasn't pleasant. It was obvious to anyone with a nose that he was recovering from some sort of trauma, and that he was in pain. He'd been too wrapped up in experiencing it to realize what it smelled like. There was no plausible way that Finnick hadn't been able to smell it too, and Nick tried to keep back a growing embarrassment. Sometimes he hated being a canid.

"What? This?" he asked casually as he looked down and brushed his chest wrap. "It's nothing," he said with a wave of his paw.

He realized that he probably should have thought about putting on some scent masker beforepaw, but it was too late for that now, and there was no way around her having found out about this. Though, the fact that he had lied about it signaled to her, and to Finnick, that he did not wish to discuss the matter further. Bringing up another mammal's scent when they did not want to talk about it was generally considered rude, and this cultural rule was typically respected out of the understanding that the situation could easily be reversed at any time.

Nick knew she meant it out of concern, not malice, so to lighten the moment he added, "If you think this is bad, you really should have seen the other guys."

She smiled at him, then with a note of deadly seriousness warned, "Well, next time, you tell them they'll have me to deal with if they touch your face again."

Finnick shook his head with silent mirth, and received one of Nick's elbows to head for his efforts.

After some brief introductions to Finnick, Nick introduced her to the car; she was very pleased to meet them both, but her eyes lit up far more upon falling on the top-down Mustang. To be fair, it was a car of legend, but Nick couldn't help but feel like he had been bumped down a few notches on the vixen's list of priorities now that she'd glimpsed the chassis.

Finnick took charge of giving her the tour of the garage and bringing her up to speed on the list of tasks that they'd accomplished over the past few days. She was impressed, and, given her engaging lines of questioning, knew her way around a garage.

Nick found himself experiencing a rare bit of jealousy at the situation. It was something more primal than anything else; the result of seeing another male getting attention from the only female in view. The more developed part of his brain wasn't overly concerned about the situation and efforted to ensure that his outward appearance conveyed that as much as possible. None of this was to say that he was uninterested, but showing it wouldn't confer him any additional advantage.

Having her here to at least look over some of their work was of benefit all on its own. She had been impressed with their progress and had pointed out many things that they had done right, and a few of the things they had done wrong, some which could have been 'bad', as the vixen had put it while regaling them with terrifying tales of pistons shooting out of hoods, exploding manifolds, and vehicles turning into flaming coffins in an instant.

One critical element that she did confirm was the theory that someone else had already gone through most of the leg work of getting the car prepared for a restoration, and that if it hadn't been disassembled and stored the way it had been, it likely wouldn't have survived its lengthy stint through the decades.

She also had some idea of what the antique machine was worth; a number which had Finnick wearing a rare grin, and one which Nick did his best to quietly file away into the depths of his mind and avoid fantasizing about it.

There was no reason to doubt that she was a capable mechanic, but if there had been any in either his mind or Finnick's, all trace of it was wiped clean the moment she got to work. Skye had no reservations when it came to taking charge and giving out orders, which Nick and Finnick followed dutifully, if only out of a concern for the unspecified consequences for disobedience implied by her confidence.

It was all paws on deck as they worked to put the Mustang back together. The professional tools, experience, and fresh enthusiasm that Skye brought with her made everything seem almost easy. As opposed to the random fumbling and improvisation of the past week, there was now a deliberate and definitive plan of action to follow.

…

It wasn't quite dark yet, but indigo was creeping into the vista as dusk approached. Among the many extravagant luxuries, compared to Nick's previous frame of reference anyways, that Skye brought along with her was a portable generator and set of shop lights. While each predator had the natural capability of working in the dark, much of the needed nuance in the visual details were lost when light was removed, to say nothing of their perception of color, which was much more important now that they were finalizing the wiring.

During the last few hours the engine had been successfully installed and all its fluidic, electrical, and mechanical connections reestablished, possibly for the first time in nearly thirty years. Shocked surprise vaguely described Nick's and Finnick's reaction when the engine had been turned over for the first time, though Skye had been much more optimistic in her work.

There were no lions under the hood, but the engine still purred at idle, and roared when gassed. By all accounts, they were finished, but there were still several details that need to be ironed out and none of the nocturnals saw any reason to stop just because it was getting dark outside.

One limitation that could not be ignored, however, approached even faster than nightfall. To preempt this catastrophe, Finnick had left to pick up some gator wings and other refreshments from _Dusky's_ about an hour ago and was expected to be back at any moment.

While they waited, Nick had been pushing his damaged shoulder tendons to the limit by waxing. It was worth it, though; even under the artificial light, he could see just how brilliantly red the paint really was. He could only imagine how much more striking it would be in proper sunlight.

"Hey, Nick babe?" Skye called out from the driver's seat. After putting some finishing touches on the dashboard connections, she'd been testing and calibrating the old fully mechanical tachometer.

Nick shook his head slightly with a small smirk on his muzzle. She'd been talking to him like that all night and if he was being honest with himself, he wouldn't be able to say that he didn't like it. He hadn't known her long, but from what his expert mammal reading instincts were telling him, in the same way that he couldn't help being sly, she couldn't help being flirty.

 _We can only be what we are._

"Yes, ma'am," he called out as he looked up from his waxing work on one of the rear panels.

"Is there some sort of trick to this glove box?" She inquired in her sweet musical voice.

Nick put down his cloth and began approaching the passenger side door. "If there is, I don't know it. We haven't been able to get it open either." He leaned his forearms on the side of door and looked in at it quizzically.

"Hmmm," she mused in thought. "There's a crow bar in the job box; want to get it for me?" she asked sweetly.

"Of course," Nick replied confidently with a slight wag of his tail.

He stood back up and sauntered towards her truck. The foxier part of his brain was happy to be of service, proving himself as a provider, while the more rational part realized that she probably had a pretty good track record of getting what she wanted out of poor saps like him. He theorized that he would not have been as susceptible to her influence if their current goals were not aligned, or that he would have at least attempted to fight it a bit harder. As it was, though, her success was his success and it was refreshing to have someone else take charge of his life for a little while. So long as it was not a permanent state of affairs, he had no problem being obedient every now and then.

Finding the pry, he returned to the car and got in the front passenger seat. Looking over to her, he asked, "Now what?"

She put down the indicator she was working on and looked over at the glove box with her paw outstretched. Nick handed her the bar and watched as she carefully stuck it in the space between where the box met the console.

"There is a latch in there," she explained as she maneuvered the tool around the area, "and sometimes it binds itself after sitting for awhile. And the longer it sits, the more difficult it is to break it free." After a few seconds, the crowbar caught on the something that she was looking for. "Gotcha," she whispered. "Mind putting some muscle on this for me, babe?" she asked.

Nick raised his eyebrow skeptically but still complied with the request. She hadn't been kidding about how stuck it was and he put a considerable amount of effort into it with no results. The more feral part of him kicked in a small surge of adrenalin and after one more heave, accompanied by new sensations of pain from his recovering wounds, it broke free, and the glovebox fell open. To Nick's surprise, it wasn't empty.

"What do we have here, then?" Skye asked rhetorically as she reached into the box and pulled out a bundle of folded up paper.

It was a map booklet. The coloring was slightly faded, but overall, it seemed in good condition. It wasn't even dusty. Bold calligraphy on the front proudly proclaimed, _'The Roads of Zootopia'_.

"This might be worth as much as the car is," Skye joked as she began unfolding it. The dry pages crinkled under her gentle touch.

Similar in construction to a newspaper, Nick watched as more and more sections of it were revealed. Faded pinks, oranges and yellows marked streets, roads and highways while shades of green indicated the contours of the terrain and blues marked the waterways. He recognized the areas and names as being from the city, but as the pages turned, he grew less familiar with the areas and locations identified. Given how distant they were getting from the city, he guessed that the cover title had been referring to the continental Zootopia, rather than the municipal Zootopia, for which the landmass was named.

While he had neither active nor ironic malice towards the rest of the Union, Nick had always considered himself a _true_ Zootopian, rather than _just_ a Zootopian. The confusion never lasted more than a second, but it was always easy to determine if a mammal was actually from the city, or just from _everywhere else_ , depending on which location their mind jumped to first.

"Hmm. Looks like somebody was planning a trip," Skye called out as she traced one of the roads with a claw. The path was marked with a purplish brown line. Its inconsistent coloring and jagged nature suggested it had been drawn in by paw and that it was the faded remains of decades old black ink.

The current chart they were looking at was scaled out far enough that the city of Zootopia was identified only by a black dot and its name, and only the major roadways were drawn in. The highlighted path traveled eastward, through several of the neighboring counties and then off the page.

Skye frowned slightly and cocked her ears in disappointment, but curiosity resumed unabated when upon turning the page, the trail and faded black line continued. It was two more page turns before the trail finally terminated with a circle around a small town at the northern edge of Angartha providence, a region approximately seven hundred miles northeast of Zootopia.

" _Wayward Paws_ ," Skye mused. "That sounds like a cute little town. You ever hear of it?" she asked, turning to Nick.

He was staring at the point on the map, but trying his best to avoid looking interested in it. "Nope," he said with such impartiality that he even believed it himself. It was a lie, though. He had heard of it, but not in a very long time.

…

Day 47

…

Nick checked the time on his phone… _again_ : [5:00 AM]. It had only been four fifty-eight the last time he'd looked at it and four fifty-seven the time before that. A similar pattern could be traced back unbroken for almost four hours now. Staring blankly at the shadows dancing across his ceiling cast by moonlight reflecting off the harbor had filled the gaps in between.

It wasn't so long ago that he was able to sleep soundly through every night, never once being disquieted by reflections on his misdeeds or by contemplations about his predicaments. That was an epoch distant from his perspective, though. He was a different fox back then. Not a better or worse one, but definitely one different from his current incarnation. One that could easily ignore the things he now fixated on.

Over the past few weeks, his only successful recourse to the insomnia had been to wait it out. To give into his wandering mind until exhaustion rescued him from wakefulness, and only occasionally betraying him to the dread of his worst nightmares.

Tonight's insomnia was of a different breed, however. Diverging entirely from the projections that his subconscious usually terrorized him with, this imagining was entirely positive and his mind had sunk its claws in deep, refusing even sleep for fear of losing the sensation.

It imbued him with an impelling force that sent a tingling down through his spine and into his tail. He had done his best to ignore the restlessness all night, hoping that fatigue might be able conquer it too, but that outcome was feeling more and more unlikely every time he looked at the clock.

[5:01 AM]

Nick squeezed his eyes shut in weary frustration, then took a deep breath. He had been slowly giving into the conclusion for hours now: If he couldn't defeat it, he'd have to give into it. He opened his eyes, then sat up in his cot. The wooden floor was cool beneath his feet.

Taking a moment to contemplate whether he was actually going to go through with this or not, he realized that the point of no return had already been passed when he'd sat up. The force that compelled him to action had grown tenfold, feeding on even this small bit of intent. All thoughts of going backwards, of laying his head back down and seeking out slumber once more, felt agonizingly wrong.

He stood up, and it felt right to do so. Taking a moment to stretch felt good, but wasting time felt wrong, and a sense of urgency bolstered his impetus to get moving. Now that his path was inevitable, he needed to get there as soon as possible.

With no time for his usual vanity, he hastily slipped back into his dirty attire from yesterday. Walking over to John's old wardrobe, he opened it and retrieved his running bag. After unzipping it, he pulled several shirts down off their hangers and stuffed them hurriedly into the bag. He opened one of the lower drawers and gave the same unforgiving treatment to several pairs of trousers. What space was left, he stuffed with undergarments, t-shirts, and a set of ties.

He threw the bag onto his cot, then checked the floor beneath it. There was the battery pack he'd been using to charge his phone, and the car charging adapter he'd been using to charge the battery pack whenever Finnick's van was around. There was also his wallet and set of tortoise shell sunglasses. The whole lot was collected and dumped at the center of his blanket, next to the bag.

The dam holding back the tides underwent a progressive collapse. Each bit that he gave in to was another bit that was howling for him to give in more. His movements became more brisk, on the verge of frantic, as the urgency grew stronger. A nervousness suggested that if he didn't do this now, he would be restrained from doing so later. Fear of missing this opportunity dripped adrenaline into his system and induced an itch in his fur that no scratch would satiate.

He all but pounced his way to John's desk. Fumbling through one of the drawers, he was frustratedly unable to find his target. Filled momentarily with dread, he opened another drawer and, to his immense relief, quickly located what he was looking for. The gold embossed letters on the front of the small blue booklet glimmered in the darkness: _'PASSPORT: Zootopia'_.

After placing it on the desk, he turned to the bookshelf behind him. He selected three books purposefully and put the stack on the desk too.

Startled by the realization of forgetting something basic, he quickly braced his paws on the desk and pushed hard to slide it several feet forward. He got down on his paws and knees, and felt out the floorboards that had just been uncovered. Identifying the one he was after, he sank his claws into space between it and its neighbor, then lifted the board free. Even night vision struggled to penetrate the darkness below, but drawing on memory, he still found what he was looking for and brought up a silvery briefcase.

Spring-loaded latches clicked as the case opened. In a similar way to how he had freed the wooden board, he used his claws to lift up one of the tightly bound bricks of cash. He looked at it for a few seconds but was quickly compelled to make more haste. He was about to dig out a few more stacks, but after minimal reconsideration, he returned the one he'd taken and resealed the case. Leaving the floorboard ajar and the desk askew, he took the case, the books, and his travel documents to the cot.

Upon stuffing the passport into one of his pockets, his digits contacted the bulky plastic pen and the soft square of fabric that were already occupying it. He didn't have time to think about those things now, but left them where they were and proceeded to retrieve his wallet and glasses and put those in his other pocket. Grabbing his phone, which now showed that it was four past five, he placed that in his pocket as well.

The blanket he tied into a bundle and put under his arm. He swung the bag over his shoulder, then grabbed the briefcase by the handle. As an afterthought, he managed to stretch his grasp on the briefcase handle enough to accommodate the corner of his pillow and pulled that along with him too.

Overcoming his imperative, he took a small moment to survey the office one last time. It felt like he was abandoning an old friend. The room had served him well over the years, but as the walls of his life continued to close in on him, it had recently become more of a prison cell than a refuge.

The moment ended as he was flooded with urgency once more. Locking the door behind him, he hurriedly made his way to the garage.

The Mustang, every inch of it shining radiantly, still had its top down, and appeared as ready to go as he felt. He dumped everything he was holding over the edge of the passenger door and let it all fall randomly onto the seat and floor.

Quickly, he pulled the chain that lifted the manual garage door. Just as he finished, something else caught his eye. He grabbed the folding lounge chair and tossed it into the back seat as he leapt into the driver's seat without even sparing the time to open the door.

The key turned and the engine growled to life.

There was no point in giving it any more thought. He had to get of here. It didn't matter where, he just had to go. He shifted into gear, and depressed the throttle. He rolled out of the garage without even bothering to close it behind him.

As the first hint of morning light was spreading across the sky, there was no looking back for him. It didn't matter where he was going, only where he was leaving. That didn't mean that he didn't have a destination in mind, though, and as he turned onto a road that took him in the direction of the rising sun, he clicked open the glove box to ensure its contents were still present. Satisfied that they were, he gave the engine as much gas as he dared, and for the first time in a long time, he felt free.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Hello everyone! Thanks for still being here and sticking with me through these longer waits. I feel terrible about it and am doing my best to pick up the pace!

Also, other than having a chapter be posted, today is a very special day for Three Months a Fox! It was 1 year ago, today, that I uploaded the first 2 chapters! I really cannot believe that it has been a year already, and I have learned so much about writing and about myself during this experience. Thank you so much to everyone that has been on this journey with me, whether you just started last week, or have been here since the beginning, if you have left reviews, or just enjoy it silently, THANK YOU!

I would especially like to thank eng050599 and fatescanner for your help in all this, you are both great friends. Also, if you are still out there somewhere, thank you highwing for helping me out on the first several chapters. You input was invaluable in getting this thing going.

Be sure to check out zootopianewsnetwork com for more great stories being featured alongside this one, and check out and even contribute to the 3MaF page on tvtropes org, where this story can be found by searching 'three months a fox'.

Thanks again!

And for the rest of the notes:

I have been thinking for quite a while now that Zootopia is actually located in Zootopia. That is, the city of Zootopia is located in the country of Zootopia (which is possibly situated on the continent of Zootopia, but I haven't confirmed that). Now this may seem a bit strange and confusing, but let us remember some real world examples: New York is located in New York (city in state), Australia is in Australia (country in contenant), Rome was in Rome (city in empire), and there are hundreds of cities that share names with the counties that hosts them, etc etc. The list can go on and on. It may still seem an odd situation to contemplate the citizens of the city claiming to be 'Zootopian' versus the citizens of other cities equally being able to claim the national identity as 'Zootopian', but meaning (and understanding each other to mean) different things. Yet even this has a readily identifiable real world example. In my home country, we not only share our name with our continent, we almost exclusively refer to ourselves as 'American', even though there are 3 American continents containing dozens of countries, all who could all technically refer to themselves as 'Americans' as they are from the Americas. And like the New Yorkers I have know who feel defensive when they hear someone from upstate claiming to be from 'New York', I too would probably feel the same way if I heard a Canadian say he was an 'American'. As this oddity of naming rights and social conventions has worked itself out over the years in our world, it would work itself out in Zootopia as well.

Obviously, Nick has a date with destiny at the end of this story, so he won't be wandering the countryside for too long, but this trip will give him some time to get out his rut and hopefully get him to realize what it is he left behind. It will also be a chance for all of you to see a bit more of the world, and how I imagine their country is laid out.

There is no reason to explain it all here as I will do that narratively in a coming chapter. Some of the inspirations I am taking for the layout will actually be right out the book _Utopia_ by Sir Thomas More of England. It seemed appropriate to use that as a starting point.

There were a lot of call backs to previous chapters and events here. Obviously finding the car was one. He stated that he recently got a new phone, which if you remember, his old one got smashed at the same time he did. There was the money from Mr. Big, which it may have been a rash decision to take all of it with him, but that, along with the state he left the warehouse in was meant to imply that he doesn't necessarily plan on coming back, even if we all know he will. There was Skye again. Nick's running bag that he keeps inside the wardrobe.

 _Wayward Paws?_ Those with a keen sense of astronomy will realize which of the cardinal directions Nick was headed towards at the end, but for everyone else, you will just have to wait and find out. It was named for the _Wayward Pines_ trilogy by Blake Crouch, which I really enjoyed. It was also mentioned that it was near Angartha, a city mentioned in the news articles, and that is the _an_ thropomorphic spin I put on Agartha, which follows our theme of mythical cities, this one said to be located at the center of the Earth.

Canon Check: If you didn't know, to the best of my knowledge there exists only one image of Skye in the abandoned concept art from Disney. It was drawn by Byron and it shows her as a mechanic.

Thanks again eng050599 and fatescanner for editing this again!


	26. Slow Burn

…

Day 49

...

Cameel Delatoria parked her car and began her yawn at precisely 4:59 AM. As was part of her schedule, she finished it by 5:04 AM.

Cameel loved her schedule; she had to. With all those busybody doctors running around at all hours of the day, staying true to her schedule was the only possible way she could complete her work. If staying on time was the thing she loved, then falling behind was the thing she abhorred.

Among the other things she loved, was her parking spot. A mere ten yards from the front door, its nearness allowed her a full hour of extra sleep compared to where she had worked previously. There was no reason to waste that bonus time by marveling at it, though, and so she began her trek towards the building.

Many of her co-workers here were very polite and most of the many dozens that walked past her offered morning platitudes as they went by, heading towards the same door she was. One notable exception in particular did not, and she felt the wind as this mammal rushed by her without offering any greeting. Doctor Troy Ripley was always in such a hurry.

It was only 5:29 AM and she had more than a yard to go before reaching the door, at least four minutes ahead of schedule by her estimate, and she couldn't help but ponder what had just happened. The event was completely expected from mammals like this cheetah doctor. Always pouncing, leaping, running, jumping, and bounding this way and that, everywhere they went. Cameel despised all predators, and she held an especially low opinion of the self-important Doctor Ripley. The attending physician at the recently converted field hospital formerly known as Cliffside Asylum, had a reputation for impatience and rudeness.

At least from her perspective, at any rate. Most found him to be extremely competent, attractively charismatic, and exceptionally caring for those under his charge. Cameel didn't see any of those qualities in him, though. She knew what he really was, and no amount of play acting on his part could change that.

…

It was no later than 7:15 AM when she had finally reached her station, after pouring herself a fresh mug of coffee first, of course. She was going to need the caffeine if she was going to make it through today. Taking a sip of it, she sighed and took a short three minute moment to bask in its warmth. There was a lot to do today, and this would probably be her last chance at having some time to herself.

Seven minutes later, she had finally finished entering her password, and her tablet computer began logging her in.

She, nor any other lab technician at Cliffside, had personalized, dedicated devices, unlike the physicians on call, and the one she held now had been selected at random off a charging rack. It was no matter though as the tablet had downloaded all her settings and favorites from the local cloud when she'd logged in. As her personal settings dictated, her daily agenda app launched immediately without her even needing to activate it. It was a very convenient timesaver, and Cameel loved timesavers.

She took only a quick seventeen minutes to review the list, before she began making her way around the lab to gather her supplies.

…

Cameel loved lab work too and it was something that she was good at. Some might have described her work as _slow_ , a word she hated, but she preferred to think of it as _methodic_. So many of her colleagues and superiors _rushed_ through their work. They had no idea the things they missed by hurrying over results so quickly.

Of the fastest, and most likely to overlook something vital, were the predators on staff; another reason to mistrust anything they had to say. So many of those _things_ claimed to be doctors here. She honestly did not understand how it made any sense at all to allow savages to treat savages. There was more than enough pawed prey species to easily dominate the medical profession without needing those brutes blundering about.

She tried to re-focus on her work. There was no time to dwell on those mysteries today. Those issues were far too high above her pay grade to be concerning herself with at this point in time. As it was, the work she should have been focusing on was precisely a part of what would eventually be the solution to this problem, anyways.

She checked her watch, and noted the time. Her venture around the lab had taken less than an hour, putting her even more ahead of schedule.

Something else that was high above her pay grade was how exactly her schedule was determined in the first place. Whoever was setting it was clearly a part of the same special project that she was, and had ensured that her agenda had as much overlap with her secondary responsibilities as possible.

Those other responsibilities involved no small amount of disruption to the first set. It was no easy feat to sabotage a blood sample in a way that both maintained its integrity for later testing, and ensured that no specific toxic anomalies could be detected.

There was of course too many samples for her alone to compromise, and there were samples being taken and tested at other facilities as well. She was confident that those were being taken care of, though. While she was not privy to who else was tasked with the same work she was, she guessed that they were not aware of her, either. The mammals she was taking direction from enjoyed keeping their anonymity pervasive, but their secrets were not things she was overly interested in discovering. They reviled predators, same as her; that was enough.

She hummed quietly to herself as she carefully squeezed a drop of the neutralization serum into a blood vial. If anyone had cared to take notice of her, they would only have seen her adding in the required preservatives from a bottle labeled 'Potassium Oxalate/Sodium Fluoride'. No one had any reason to question her, and no one ever did.

It took her only forty-three minutes to add the requisite two drops to each of the four blood samples, and load them into the centrifuge.

…

Her scheduler was very good. They had apparently even taken into account the layout of the building when creating it as most of her more nefarious tasks could be completed on the way to her more legitimate ones.

Today she had to make a trip all the way up to the third floor for a blood draw, but along the way she would get to be the key part of the plan that would finally be able to catch all the undesirable lab results that had slipped through the cracks of the dirty technicians. It seemed that even her sponsors could not be everywhere at once.

From what she was told, the ultra-low-profile USB drive she'd been given only needed to be connected for thirty seconds to complete its task. She was not positive what that task was, as this was something outside of her expertise. If she had to guess, though, she assumed that it had something to do with infiltrating the network to modify the data of anything too incriminating.

Cliffside had only recently come back online as an institution of medicine, and the last time it had been hosting patients had been before the ubiquitous computing revolution. If she was going to continue to guess, the jerry-rigged network that had been deployed here during the rush to get the building operational likely did not follow the same robust security protocols as would have been standard elsewhere.

No one paid her any mind as she walked towards one of the makeshift server rooms, and she knew there would be no one around to ask what she was doing when she arrived. They were severely understaffed as it was, and even the ZNG squads stationed around the facility were too focused on the reception and containment areas to worry about securing an area like this.

This building had even been built before the time of the pervasive Zootopian surveillance state, and there were no CCTV cameras in place to catch sight of either her journey or destination.

All these mistakes in the name of haste. No doubt it had been predators who had made the decisions to cut these corners. If they had simply slowed down for a few minutes to think about the importance of security, she was sure these gaps would not exist. Why predators were allowed to make any decisions at all was beyond her understanding. She would refrain from complaint though; these inherent failures on their part were exactly what she was using to turn their system against them.

It had taken her a mere seventy minutes to complete the journey down the hall, a full fifteen minutes faster than what she had anticipated, and many of her hurried colleagues had passed by her, some multiple times, without concerning themselves with what her purpose might be.

She thought about what a loss it was on their part to ignore her as she carefully inserted the portable drive into the recommended port. The small green LED next to it flickered for the promised thirty seconds, then faded out, signifying its completion.

…

The server farm had been on her way to the staircase, anyways. The main elevators were still out of commission and the service elevators were currently only being used out of uneasy necessity for equipment too heavy to carry up the steps. Even so, she made quick work of the three flights of steps, only taking an additional twenty-nine minutes to make it to her floor.

Her target room was twelve doors down on the right, but along the way she passed by a biohazard bin where she disposed of the malicious USB drive. The sanitation crew would be none the wiser when they assisted her with incinerating the incriminating evidence.

…

It had taken a scant thirty-eight minutes to make it the rest of the way down the hall, practically a sprint.

Other technicians, nurses, and doctors had passed by her along the way, and as was usual, each had ardently avoided striking anything more than passing conversation with her. That was no bother, though; she had a task to complete and being that she was a full twenty minutes ahead of schedule now, she had no intention of wasting it.

The doors she passed were heavy sliding steel bulkheads and had been designed to contain the savages that now occupied them. She passed only one ZNG officer, thankfully an elk and not one of those jarhead timber wolves, but it seemed that this hallway had drawn the short straw for patrols. The thin coverage may even have been scheduled by the same group that planned her day. How deep this went, she didn't know, but she was elated to have even this small part in it.

She found her target room and closed the door behind her, as was protocol. A variable chorus of soft beeps that kept time with multiple heart rates filled the air. This, like all the other rooms at Cliffside, was not a private room and hosted ten full beds. None of the patients ever complained; most wards of Cliffside were kept in an induced comatose state.

This did prove a challenge, though, as she only had the patient ID number of the tiger she was to draw blood from. Unfortunately, this caused her to take more than fifty minutes going around to each bed and searching for the patient ID number she was looking for. Against her luck, it had been the last one in the room that she had checked. She sighed as this had put her nearly a half hour behind schedule, and she had been doing so well today.

She didn't like being behind schedule, lest she be forced to rush. Rushing is where mistakes happened and she did not like the idea of it. Perhaps this day was not going to turn out as well as she'd planned.

Dwelling on the loss would not get her any more on schedule, so she pulled out the empty auto-drawer and placed it on the sedated tiger's restrained arm. The gun-shaped device did all the hard work for her, and didn't task her long claws with any dexterity they couldn't manage. It, along with its close sibling, the auto-injector, had revolutionized the medical field for those lacking high dexterity appendages.

She retrieved one of those auto injectors from her pocket now as the blood draw was complete. She was just about to place it on the tiger's arm when her tardiness finally caught up to her.

The bulkhead door slid open and a sharp voice leapt out from the entryway. "What are you giving him?"

She didn't have time to look up before he started approaching her, but she knew the voice was that of Doctor Ripley. The busybody was supposed to have been on other rounds right now, but he had no doubt sloppily rushed through them, like his kind always did with everything.

A small amount of panic hastened her thoughts. She knew he wouldn't be amicable to her usual conversational mannerisms, so she formulated a truncated sentence that she thought he might be willing to listen to.

"Blood…" she started.

Ripley leered at her impatiently as he tapped his foot and swished his tail, arms folded.

"Draw..." she finished.

Anger flooded across his face. "With an injector?! The hell you are!," he growled.

Whether he thought she was lying or just incompetent, it didn't matter. She knew what he'd do next and prayed her reflexes were agile enough to combat it. There was still surprise on her side, after all.

"Give me that," he snarled angrily as his quick paw lashed out to grab the device from her talons.

It was a common misconception that sloths _thought_ slower than other mammals, but that was just a myth. Cameel could judge events and come to conclusions just as quickly as any other mammal. She had anticipated that he would reach for the injector the moment he walked in, and even before he had started in on her, she had begun rotating her talons to point it towards the direction she knew he would come from.

Even with the business end facing him, the cheetah still reached for it, and before he even realized it, the hypo spray actuator had made contact with his paw pad. Cameel pulled the trigger.

Mistaking her species for canine, he cursed loudly as he quickly jerked his arm back from the sting. There was confused rage in his eyes as he looked down at his paw, curling his digits over the pad to worry its soreness.

His claws extended involuntarily and his ears flicked back as he returned his focus to her. Lunging with his other paw, he ripped the device from her grasp, this time succeeding without incident.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he shouted irately, but even before he finished the sentence, she could see the reaction in his pupils to the paralytic the Nighthowler serum was mixed with.

He had noticed the effect too as shocked concern, and more than a little terror, ran over his spotted face.

"Wha.. wha-s dat..?" he stammered as his jaw began to slacken.

His head listed downward to look at the injector, heavy in his slackening paw. His eyes searched for any identifiable markings on the now empty vial loaded within it, but she knew he would find none.

Cameel began stepping down off the stool next to the tiger's bed, and began approaching the doctor.

Knees giving out, the cheetah lost his balance and a staggered step backwards failed to recover it. The small tray cart next to him was no help either and he took that down with him as he collapsed hard to the ground. The door to this room had already slid shut after he'd entered and Cameel doubted that much of the clatter had been audible outside.

Laying on his back now, the injector fell from his limp paw as he tried in vain to will his arms into his pocket to reach his phone, but they refused to move. White fire began searing his paw and crawling up his arm. He tried to scream, but found his voice to be unresponsive as well.

As Cameel approached him, she considered that it was his haste that had been his downfall. If he had only been more methodic in his disciplining of her, taken a moment to consider a safer way of disarming her, he could have easily avoided this fate. If he had not been the reckless savage she knew he was and simply thought about his actions for even a few seconds, he would have found her out, and she would have been as helpless as he was now. But that was not what had happened and she had never been concerned that it could have. After all, these predictable beasts couldn't help what they were.

She picked up the injector from the floor next to him, and sauntered towards the door. His breathing was labored and his eyes full of agonizing fear, but there was no time to waste giving him a second glance. The paralytic would metabolize in only a few minutes, and she needed to be on the other side of the door when that happened.

Sprinting as fast as she could, she could hear the former doctor's breathing change to a throatier growl. The special blend he'd just been dosed with shut down the entire somatic nervous system. While the victim might not have been able to move, he would be left with a complete awareness and sensation of the world around him, and under the stillness, the savage transformation would still take place. The good doctor was going to get to experience the whole unadulterated thing firstpaw, though, when it was complete, the savage too would be trapped inside his paralyzed body.

The special combination had been specifically designed to keep sedated savages _sedated_ during the initial shock of receiving a maintenance dose of their Nighthowler _treatment_. Even under heavy sedation, the savagery was still evident by the uncharacteristically rapid breathing and high heart rates. It would do nobody any good at all if it appeared as though savagery could be cured simply by waiting it out. Thankfully, without the counter agent, the toxin had a half life of several weeks in most predators, so this need to _recharge_ them was not an everyday necessity.

Cameel realized that this particular concoction was also perfect for situations like these. One in which the perpetrator needed time to escape their target's rage. It was the perfect way to slow things down so they could be done the right way. She smiled at the irony, but knew the paralysis would not last forever. She exerted all her effort as she raced for the door.

Six minutes later she was at the threshold. The door had slid open and she was now efforting to close it. She could see the yellow limbs beginning to twitch and writhe. The beast began struggling to stand up, and she pushed on the door as hard as she could. It was only a few inches to go when the cat finally staggered onto all fours. The rear legs collapsed under its weight, but the fore ones managed to drag its body around so that paper-thin slit pupils could bore into her.

She was not any more scared of the cat now than she had been fifteen minutes ago. She knew it had always been a savage on the inside. The only difference now is that she had revealed the lie for what it was.

Using razor sharp claws, the spotted beast drug its way across the linoleum, gaining more motor control and speed with every inch.

The strong steel door finally latched shut and just as she heard the metallic thump of the locking bars, she heard a similar thump as what was left of Doctor Ripley leapt at the far side, colliding hard against it.

…

She strolled at a leisurely pace back down the hallway. Today had surely not gone as planned, and the rest of her schedule was probably no longer applicable given the deviation she'd just taken.

There were shouts and screams as hospital staff and ZNG guards raced past her through the hallways, paying her no attention as usual. No one noticed her drop the empty injector vial into the biohazard bin as she passed it and no one questioned her as she walked down the stairs back to the laboratory.

It was almost 3:00 PM before she arrived back to her station. The red strobes and noisy klaxons had stopped about an hour ago. As she took her seat, she looked over to the station next to her. Her neighbor, a white rabbit, stood there working diligently on several culture plates.

"What… Happened…?" she asked with quizzical innocence.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

Hello all! A little quicker this time!

Thank you again for your continued readership! I really can't stress enough how much it means to me!

Short, sweet, and to the point, this chapter hit some key points that have been waiting for a place to go for quite some time now.

Firstly, was fitting a sloth into the story somewhere. The fact that she was an unexpected bad guy too and played a role fit for her species ability was even better.

Second, was revisiting how the medical establishment was doing. I have had a lot of talks with eng050599 over the past year and given his medical expertise, he believes that there would need to be at least some infiltration of the medical establishment to keep this going or it would never work. He's come to convince me of that, and so this chapter was a great way to show how that was happening. Thanks eng!

A lot of my readers came here on his recommendation, and I hope that a lot of his readers are there on my recommendation. If you're not there yet, check out his story 'Lost Causes and Broken Dreams'. It's really good and I love helping him edit it. There's some really heart wrenching scenes and some really tender ones as well. His character development has been phenomenal this past year and I can wait to see how it all ends! So go check it out.

While this was a short chapter, the next one will be a record breaking long one. It is finished now but may take a while to edit and smooth out. Look forward to it within the next couple weeks.

Again, as my writing has slowed down due to professional constraints, I thank you for sticking with me, and hope you are still enjoying all this (even if you dont believe I can get us back on track for a canon ending :).

Thank you eng050599 and fatescanner for editing this! Thank you fatescanner for continuing to keep up the page for this! Thank you for continuing to feature this as well!

Hope you all are well, and you'll hear from me soon, I promise!


	27. As Above, So Below

Note:

As a 'Last time on 3MaF' you might find it beneficial to skim back through chapter 13 (The Night Howler) and chapter 16 (Demanding Supply) before you start. And if you are really dedicated, the second half of chapter 24 (Collaborators).

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

…

Day 50

...

Kivo Nychi drew in a deep breath, then huffed it out through his snout. The act brought him slightly, but not fully, back towards consciousness. Along with it came the vague realization that he'd been staring at his computer screen for quite some time now, lulled into a trance by the steady glittering of red numbers slowly ticking towards zero.

It was far from the first time that this had happened to the red wolf, but this bout must have been especially paralyzing given how deep the breath had been; his autonomic system compensating for long minutes of slow and shallow breathing.

His meditation had been on nothing in particular, dominated mainly by a mental void, lightly colored with the shadows of some sort of existential dread, the likes of which formed the foundations of all negative emotions, but which was rarely experienced directly in the way that he had just done. Now that his mind was returning to the present, he couldn't even be sure he had experienced it at all, but unlike the lingering sweetness of a half-remembered dream, he had no desire to hang onto this impression, nor attempt to bring it back.

Becoming aware of the slight gape of his muzzle, he took in another deep breath, licked any potential drool from his chops, and shook his head with enough vigor to flop his red-furred ears around. He rubbed his glossy eyes and tore them away from the thing that had hypnotized him in the first place. The paralysis was starting to wear off, but he needed to come out of this faster. It wouldn't be good for morale if someone walked in on him in this state.

He was by no means the first mammal to succumb to the enthrallment of which there was no name, but of which there was universal understanding. Universal to those in the financial services industry, at least, though Kivo suspected that other sectors, many of which were described by the filtering red characters flowing across his screens, suffered from their own respective versions of this phenomena.

Melancholy was not a luxury a pack leader could indulge in these days. Regardless of his true feelings, he had to be the example for his charges, lest he inflict any additional damage on their psyche by confirming that depression was indeed the correct response to their current adversity. It wasn't easy, but he felt the duty to keep up appearances.

His muzzle went into a temporary snarl as he quickly moved both paws up to his neck and began digging roughly with his sharp claws into his nape, under his TAME Band. He sighed with relief and closed his eyes, continuing to scratch, even though the itch had been eliminated, almost in anticipation of the next that would inevitably follow. It felt far better than it should have, and it was a sour reminder of how relative his pleasures had become these past two months.

Fighting hard against it, he pulled his paws back down to his desk. It would not do to have someone catch him scratching either. Down here, on sub-level two of the J.P. Maregan corporate headquarters building, every mammal was a predator, and every predator had a TAME Band. None of them needed to be reminded that they itched.

Concerning himself with keeping spirits up and preempting emotional breakdowns, of which there had been several since the forced move down here, was an entirely new aspect of his job. It wasn't so long ago that the situation had been nearly the opposite. Keeping egos in check, challenging overconfidence with raised voices, or sometimes noises more primal, and even breaking up, or participating in, fist-fights in the middle of the office floor was, or rather, _had been_ , all a part of the exciting, high-energy world of capital management; his world.

Sniffing out trends, hunting down market imbalances, and ferociously attacking strike prices all required instincts uniquely inherent to the predatory species. There were many euphemisms to describe it - _killer_ instinct _,_ opportunity _hunter, savaging_ the competition - but in Kivo's opinion, it was the aggression that was at the core of every successful mammal in his field. And when considering the level at which his pack was required to perform, the type and amount of aggression each of his traders needed to exhibit was something that could be neither learned nor trained. It was an impetus that one needed to be born with.

Millions of years of evolution had ensured that predators more naturally expressed this trait, and so high finance was one of the few high-paying career sectors overwhelmingly dominated by them. More than the money, outside of an armed services or sporting career, it was the only other field he knew of that could satisfy the primal urges that so many wished his kind would suppress. The thrilling gratification it offered was indescribable.

That wasn't to say that all predators were a fit for this environment nor that their saturation in the financial sector was absolute. He'd met his share of the rare prey that exhibited these desirable qualities, too. Bovines could usually hack it, and as a personal rule, Kivo made it a point to never discount anyone with antlers. Three, a cape buffalo and a pair of whitetails, had even been members of his pack up until a few weeks ago. 'Honorary Preds', they had been as _savage_ as any of his other brokers.

 _I really need to stop using that word…_

Kivo grimaced at the concept of censoring even his own internal monologues. He'd already had so many meetings, telepresent of course, with the Mammal Resources vice president about which words were now off-limits that the intent had unfortunately seeped into his internal lexicon.

 _It just wouldn't be proper to have a predator sully the boardroom with their physical presence._

It wasn't right, and he resented the absolute hell out of MR for making him be the one to relay the list of _naughty_ terms to his pack. His suggestion that simply distributing the memo to his team would have been sufficient was met with the insistence that he be the one to deliver it directly. He'd never felt so imbecilic in his life as he had while running through the list during one of last week's morning briefings. He felt that sentiment again now as he couldn't help but remember the question Reese, one of Rigel's quants, had asked during the meeting:

" _They don't think we actually believe that stuff, do they? Like, that we literally think about murdering and...and eating brokers from other companies?"_

It had been in response to idioms centered on the word 'killing', specifically, _'to make a killing'_.

Kivo's response had been to look him directly in the eye and say as seriously as could, _"I honestly don't know, Reese."_

It was the truth, and his whole pack could sense that it was the moment he'd uttered it. They knew he had no further answers, so they had asked him no further questions as he had proceeded to continue reading down the list, cringing internally at each bullet point.

He knew what _they_ , the top executive brass, were trying to do. It hadn't been enough to hold his whole pack hostage to financial ruin with that damned email, to collar them all like fur-chattels of the ancient era, and, after evicting them from the glass-walled open offices of the ninetieth floor, to figuratively bury them alive two levels below street. After all that, the board wanted them to change their language, too. A language that, while vulgar at times, was an essential component of the culture he'd specifically worked to develop here.

It was a culture of unapologetic success. The balance between reckless gambling and relentless precision. A culture that placed the 'wolf-eat-wolf' philosophy on the highest pedestal. In the dark forest that was the financial markets, it was hunt or be hunted, eat or be eaten, and prosper as a pack or die alone.

The slang they used was such a simple thing, but it was the _results_ of their culture that the shareholders had always salivated over. At least they _used_ to. Every ruthless trait that had made his pack the most sought-after fund managers on Paw Street had suddenly turned into every reason to shun and fear them without reservation.

It came back to aggression. If he was forced to simplify what it was that he did, he would say that his pack specialized in converting aggression into money; lots of money. It was his responsibility to cultivate and maintain an environment where that conversion was focused on the mission, and occurred with as much fluidic ease as possible.

J.P. Maregan could either continue to have wild torrents of capital gains, or a flock of tamed sheep, but they could not have both.

Kivo huffed again as he took a sidelong grimace back at his red-covered monitors.

Who in the hell was he kidding? His fund hadn't gained a single basis point in the last three weeks, and barely that much in the three before. The fact that he was not alone, that there was not a single fund in the entire system that had increased in that time, did not make him feel any better.

If _the hunt_ was the lens through which he viewed his profession, then he, the alpha, had been sending his scouts out into a barren wilderness devoid of prey. Every day they searched, and every day they came back to the den with empty bellies and watering mouths. Unable to satiate their burning hunger, their spirits were starving to death.

While the red wolf was nowhere near satisfied with the existence he had just awoken back into, his outward appearance had returned to the confident façade of the leader that he desired it to display. He allowed himself to internally indulge in a small bit of relief that it had, as just then, Ainsley Venari, a rather lanky hyena, knocked timidly on his already open door.

If this had been combat, Ainsley would have been his sniper. The pup was a high school dropout at sixteen, but that hadn't stopped him from scraping together a thousand bucks and trying his luck at the Paw Street casino. By the time he was eighteen, his account was worth upwards of sixty grand. Kivo still wasn't entirely sure how his pelt-hunters (another term that was now off limits) had found the cub, but now, just one year later, the pup was taking home more scratch in a month then what any of his contemporaries would be spending on a combined four years of university. With statistically significant precision, he had the most natural instinct for timing a trade that Kivo had ever seen. He bought every dip and sold every peak. The indefinite words, _'I have a feeling'_ were all he needed to say for Kivo to trust implicitly whatever statement followed.

Kivo looked up at him, and he jumped right into it. "I fucked up, boss."

"How much?" Kivo asked calmly. It didn't serve anyone if his traders were afraid to come to him with losses. So long as it was not a pattern (or during the Savage Crisis), there were plenty of other aspects of the day to day that he could more efficiently spend his wrath on.

"Not a trade," he started slowly with a slight shake of his head.

Kivo's ears were already mostly focused on his guest, but a slight flutter straightened them even higher and left no doubt which direction had their undivided attention.

Ainsley started talking a little quicker. Normally this would have signaled excitement, but given the slouching posture, paws in pockets, and tucked tail, Kivo suspected this to be nervousness. "Look, I-I've stood ground with him more times than I can count. I-I didn't realize…"

His initial haste catching up to him, the young hyena stopped his sentence short, clearly attempting to better select how he was going to finish it. From what Kivo was piecing together so far, there had been a fight with someone. ' _Standing ground'_ being one of their common euphemisms to refer to a _trading decision disagreement_ , a phrase that was itself a lighter way of saying _heated argument_.

During the course of normal operations, this was to be expected, and was, for all intents and purposes, an _expectation_. He wouldn't have invited any mammal to join his pack that he didn't have confidence in, but if they were going to succeed here, they needed to be confident in themselves, too. When _disagreements_ did arise, they were usually settled with bared teeth and rumbling growls until someone finally let up. If not, it typically escalated to a more physical demonstration of wits. If you weren't confident enough to put your paws where your mind was, then you weren't confident in your mind, and thus had no business being involved in multi-million-dollar transactions.

Based on practices followed by ancient wolf tribes, this methodology for resolving disputes within his pack had been largely ignored by his superiors, at least until recently, and it was not something he knew to be practiced anywhere else. It was their loss, though. It bred respect and confidence, and his pack was stronger for it. While others might have seen it as barbaric, regressive, or even _savage_ , their understanding of it was neither required, nor desired. Kivo was running a forty-billion-dollar hedge fund and they weren't.

 _It's thirty-four billion now… And stop using that word…_

 _Technically_ the missing six billion wasn't yet a recognized loss, but it hadn't failed to be noticeable, either. Among the other points he needed to correct himself on was that the use of dominance to settle disputes had largely been abandoned over the past several weeks. Not due to any particular decree on the matter, and apprehension about exactly how far one could push a TAME Band before it pushed back notwithstanding, it was mostly because market conditions were simply so dire that not a single one of his traders was willing to stake that much reputation either for or against any particular strategy.

That was until now, it seemed. The wunderkit had apparently been confident enough about something with someone to revive the tradition, but it had not gone as planned.

Kivo was growing impatient with needing to make continual adjustments to his worldview as well as waiting on Ainsley to get on with whatever it was that he had to say.

"Spit it out, pup," he commanded.

"I-I-I didn't think he was that bad. I never would have if I'd known. I didn't mean to…" Ainsley's voice was trembling as he began to ramble again.

Kivo cut him off with a sharp, "Who?"

He could sense the apprehension written all over the young hyena's face. "It's… it's Ry," Ainsley replied reluctantly, then looked to the ground quickly.

Kivo's whiskers twitched slightly as he began instinctively sniffing the air. He could have picked out _Ry's_ , Rigel Trich's, scent from across three districts if he had wanted, but right now he knew the sub-Saharan painted wolf to be just down the hall.

Finding its roots in the evolutionary history of the more social species, the psychology of pack mentality was a well-documented phenomenon, and was most pronounced in wolves. While the modern era favored ephemerality and quantity over longevity and quality, there was still the rare instance of a relationship that was strong enough to trigger the pack bonding response. This was most commonly, but not always, found between canine mates. Even so, the fierce loyalty and magnetic affinity it created was far removed from any notion of romanticism, and fortune favored the wolf who found such a bond outside of marriage.

There was no particular moment over the past twenty plus years in which _it_ had happened, but their camaraderie had only ever grown more intense with each passing day. It may have just been the remnant of some biological imperative to protect the pack over the self, but the resulting effect was a profound one. Kivo would take a bullet, or even shoot one himself, to protect Rigel. That wasn't just some platitude to him; he knew he'd literally do it, and he knew that Rigel would do the same for him.

As one of the slightly less severe functions of such a tight connection was something the textbooks called _'Scent Empathy'_ , but which wholly defied explanation to those that could not experience it directly. While the sensation itself lacked the ability to fully be defined with words, the mechanism that caused it was a close proximity over an extended period of time. Sharing so many of the same experiences together meant that they had shared many of the same emotional states as well. Over time, this pattern had conditioned their minds to mirror the other's disposition. If one was happy, the other probably should be too, and vice versa. While visual cues made some contribution, scent was the strongest indicator of how any canid was feeling, and was the primary driver of this phenomena. Once a scent prompt was detected, it was nearly impossible to ignore, and on a biological level, they were practically powerless to stop themselves from deeply empathizing with how the other was feeling.

This connection went mostly unspoken, but had almost always been a _good_ thing. Each wolf had their own demons from the past, but in the time since they'd met, their existence had been extremely satisfying. There had been the odd breakup in college and the infrequent fights with each other's mates, but by and large, both their lives had been objectively happy. Not always easy, but happy in the aggregate.

Current events had rolled that trend hard, though. What had been their blessing, to feed off each other's energy and enthusiasm, had flipped unbearably into feeding off the opposite.

It had almost certainly been the biggest mistake of Kivo's life to set Rigel up to buy that TAME Band. Uncertainty had already made their lives rocky at best, but that moment had undoubtedly been the turning point. He detested himself for how he'd acted leading up to that event and he had a righteous fear that what he'd done, and failed to do, were destined to haunt him till his dying breath.

He, like every predator in his office-pack, including Rigel, had received the same email at the same time regarding their employment prospects. Kivo had assumed this at the time, yet it had been more than a day before he had talked to Rigel to confirm he'd received it, too. Even that was giving himself too much credit, as it had been Rigel that had called out to him.

There had been no excuse to do what he'd done. Their phones may have been disabled, but they both knew they had other means of communication. Their mates were nearly as close with each other as they were and either could have easily contacted the other. They lived three houses down from each other, for Makers' sake. He could have walked down and knocked on the door or even started a bloody howl if he hadn't been being such a coward about the thing.

He still wasn't sure, or at least couldn't admit he was sure, why he had waited to talk to Rigel, but after abandoning his brother to face termination on his own, he'd topped it off with sending the poor wolf off to the slaughter to get that damned band.

 _It is a collar, and everyone knows it._

He suddenly had the indistinct notion that Talon Defense Industries' marketing team was attempting the same lingual sleight of paw that his MR department was, but he could see through both subterfuges.

Not that any of that mattered now when he was pretty sure that Rigel had died in that alleyway. The wolf that had come back out was only a shadow of the one that had gone in. Shedding, shaking, stammering; whatever had happened to him in there had broken his brother's spirit, and putting on that collar had shattered what was left. He couldn't even get Rigel to tell him about it; the mere mention of it causing him to go quiet with anxiety.

He should never have let him go alone. Wolves were stronger in packs and he knew that better than anyone. Betraying that law of nature was unforgivable.

What was worse yet, was that the whole event had been predicated on a lie. One that he was still too omega to fess up to. Rigel still thought that Kivo had purchased his collar in the same manner he had, but he was wrong. Kivo had acquired his under a much less frightening set of circumstances. If what Kivo had described to Rigel had actually been the truth, maybe the red wolf would have known the psychological horror of the ordeal, and perhaps he and Rigel would have found themselves in opposite situations.

He knew what pain Rigel felt because he could smell it on the currents of the room. It was sour and forced Kivo to fight the physical illness it induced. Being so particularly attuned to his brother's scent, the assault of Rigel's near continuous anxiety on his senses had forced Kivo into doing his best to ignore it during the past few weeks. He knew it was wrong; he deserved to feel every bit of it since he was the one who had caused at least part of it, but he had a real fear that he wouldn't be strong enough to deal with it directly.

Probably following in Ainsley's wake as he'd walked in here, the scent Kivo was now picking up from Rigel was somewhat more recent than what he'd been getting before. Now that he made it his focus, or rather, he stopped trying to actively block it out, he knew immediately that something was wrong, or rather, more wrong than what was their new normal. The sensation was sudden, and it overtook him with a heavy wave of anxiety, nauseating panic, and a truly palpable fear.

Kivo could not help the growling reverb under his question that was more accusatory than curious. "What did you do?"

Ainsley's eyes went wide with trepidation and his posture went more submissive as he watched the red wolf's ears pin back. He realized that angering the alpha had been his second mistake of the day, and his fear was confirmed as Kivo's fur visibly bristled and he stood up from his desk. Strolling briskly towards the door, a low but menacing rumble still emanated from deep within his throat.

"What did you do?" Kivo growled again, but made no effort to stop and wait for an answer.

Ainsley realized he was about to be bowled over, or decked, and barely stepped out of the way in time as Kivo strode past him through the door.

"I-I didn't mean to," he tried to call out, but he had already lost Kivo's attention.

The sensations he was picking up from the scent currents in the air induced the feeling of needing to be on the defensive against an attack. Kivo had always been much more of a _fight_ than _flight_ type of wolf, and it was taking all his effort to keep his aggression bottled in as he walked through the makeshift trading room that his office was attached to. Seeing the dingy conditions, they'd forced him to work in - the mismatched monitors, nests of patchwork ethernet cables, peeling yellow paint and stained shag carpet - only made him angrier.

He'd regret it later, but seeing one of his brokers, a white tiger, gawking at him broke loose some of his wrath.

"Jordan, unless you've made some fucking numbers today, get your Makers' damned tail back on that fucking phone," Kivo snarled through clenched teeth and bared fangs with a sharply clawed digit and fiercely yellow eyes pointed directly at the offending subordinate. The silvery cat dropped his gaze to the floor and shrank submissively in his seat.

How Kivo was managing to keep his neck solid green in that moment was anyone's guess.

…

The ivory-furred fox gently caressed the rough canvas cot while his steely blue eyes remained closed, unwilling to view the reminders of where he was, and where he was not. Compared to the concrete floor he'd been sleeping on for longer than he could remember, the coarse, grungy mattress felt like silk under his pads. Keeping his eyes closed, he imagined that it was.

Markus knew it wasn't, of course. Just like he knew the mistaken sensation was likely due to some kind of nerve damage he'd suffered during his previous traumas. More clearly being able to delineate reality from fantasy, and coming to complex conclusions about it, had slowly become a bigger part of his life in the time since the abuse had stopped.

 _Stopped_ wasn't precisely correct, as they were still keeping him confined and the isolation was a torture in itself, but the beatings, _her_ visits, and the _other thing_ , had stopped a while ago.

 _A while ago_ was the only unit of time he had to measure it by as he had not seen a clock, or even the sun in more a-while-agos than he could count. He missed the sun, and its warmth on his fur, but he didn't have high hopes for ever experiencing it again.

He took a deep breath and huffed it through his nose as he mulled through the situation. Critically thinking about where he was, and what had happened to him was a relatively recent accomplishment, and a large part of him felt that it might have been easier to just leave his mind shattered rather than to try putting it back together. By no means did he actually believe he had his sanity back, but he'd pieced together enough of his core self to recognize which parts were still missing. He'd pulled himself back past the brink, but not so much that he wasn't still looking over the edge; it would only take the slightest push to send him careening into the abyss of madness once more.

The understanding of how truly miserable his life was hadn't so much changed, as it was his perception of it that had. Before, it had just been the raw experience of the misery itself, but now that he'd been given some sort of reprieve from its continuousness, he'd been able to string enough coherent thoughts together to understand it on a more analytical level. If anything, though, this deeper understanding of his situation had only served to give him more reasons to be terrified.

His change of venue scared him, too. Before, there hadn't been much mystery about what was going to happen to him, and his situation had been a predictable quantity. Now that everything was different, that uncertainty had been reintroduced.

Some changes had been good, or at least not bad. The cot and thin mattress he was laying on had come with his new cell, and he'd even received a thin sheet that did little to protect him from the cold dampness.

He'd been atop both when he'd awoken here the first time. He hadn't been sure how he'd arrived here, but he'd guessed that they had moved him after his last—

Thinking about the _thing_ that they did to him was still too difficult to deal with directly, but he remembered that it had taken quite some time to notice the new furnishings at all; the processes of coming back out of _it_ was nearly as arduous as the process of going into _it_.

The type of walls here seemed to suggest that he wasn't very far away from his previous residence, but in addition to the cot, he now had a set of white linen trousers and a shirt. Those were even softer than the bed and he often rubbed the sleeves between his digits when he wasn't petting the bed.

No longer being naked had been perhaps the most substantial factor in grounding himself long enough to grasp at feeling like a real mammal again and had allowed him to begin the process of rebuilding himself. Semi-regular meals and not getting the hose again weren't negligible contributions, either. Other amenities included a functional facility and an icy water faucet that didn't taste half bad once it had been running for a while. On the other wall was a small desk and a wobbly chair. There was nothing for him to do at the desk, but he sometimes sat there when he wasn't on the bed.

The back wall was bland cinderblock, and the bars that made up the entire front wall were not dissimilar from the ones on his previous cell. Outside of those was more grey concrete lit by dim incandescent bulbs. The hallway was lined with dozens of other cells that were more or less replicas of his own. They were all unoccupied, though.

Wherever he was, and he hadn't yet ruled out Hell, it wasn't completely empty. There were the rams who brought him food, and the last few times they'd come he'd been able to hear other voices outside of the big metal door at the end of the hallway. One time he even heard a distant, but ferocious echoing growl that had sent him scurrying under his cot for protection where he'd stayed shivering until long after his food had been left to go cold in the tray slot.

His good ear perked as he heard that same door opening now. As much as he did not like having visitors here, they always brought him food, and that conditioning had started competing with his sense of dread the last few times it had happened. Rolling over, he opened his eyes to watch for movement beyond his bars.

Still laying on his side, he curled his tail up to his chest and held it tightly as five rams walked into view and silently surveyed him. Three were holding long prods, another a bag with something that smelled like food, and the last a video camera.

This was new, and it didn't seem like it was the same not-bad type of new that having clothes was. Every other time there had been only two, and they'd never brought sticks before and definitely not a camera.

"Open it up," the one with the camera commanded.

A jingle of keys, and the steel bars slid along their rusty rails. Markus held his matted tail tighter as they approached with their sticks extended, white popping arcs of electricity at the ends.

After all this time, was it going to come to an end? Were they going to start torturing him again? Had all this just been some kind of ploy to trick him into back into sanity, just so they could take it from him again? Was this even the first time they had done that to him? The thoughts were unbearable, and he found solace in the only place he ever could.

In the time since he'd been moved here, he'd decided that the memories of a red-furred fox kit with fierce cobalt eyes and pointed black ears were indeed real. He went to them now, hoping to hide inside the remembrance.

"Stand up," the ram with the camera commanded.

They hadn't hurt him yet and he definitely did not want them to start again. Before he'd been moved here, the infliction of pain had been so continuous that he'd held onto defiance simply out of convenience because he knew that compliance would only get him the same result anyways. This time though, having gone so long without experiencing it, he feared it's return immensely. Shivering, it took all his effort to make his body sit up on the cot. Reluctantly, he stood up, ears down and tail tucked. He kept his head down and they kept their sticks raised.

"Take off your shirt," the one with the camera demanded.

This command was backed up with more of the sparking sounds which sent Markus into violent shakes as he tried to figure out what they wanted from him.

The ram growled at his hesitancy. "If I have to tell you to do anything twice again, fox, those sticks will be the least of your worries. Take. Off. Your. Shirt."

Believing him, the white fox complied. Broken more times than he could count, his chronically aching paws were not helped by how much he was shaking as he struggled to take off the garment.

The ram then turned the camera on, a blindingly bright light atop it, and trained it on the shirtless white fox, who had moved his tail around his chest, and stood holding it around his midsection with squinting eyes.

"Stand up straight, arms out," the ram grumbled as he put the camcorder to his barred eye.

Markus did, but the feeling of having his stomach exposed made him shake harder, and his tail stayed wrapped tight around him. A partially missing right ear, terribly crooked digits, and furless scars all over his body displayed the record of things that had happened to him here.

Removing his eye from the viewfinder, the ram growled, "If you don't stop shaking, I am going to give you a reason to never stop."

There was a malicious chuckle from one of the other rams and a lot more arcing from the three taser prods. With one more violent spasm, Markus clenched his jaw and held himself as still as he could, but the whimpers leaking out of his throat were unavoidable.

"There, that's good. Hold that," the ram said as he began walking in a sweeping arc around Markus, filming him from several angles.

A combination of long forgotten vulpine curiosity and his blackened imagination made him want to shake again, but he really wanted to believe that they would not hurt him if he did what they asked.

"Let's see some teeth. Show me some fang," the ram commanded, his eye still on the camera.

Markus had no idea how to respond. He wanted desperately for them to go away and leave him alone, but he desperately wanted to not do anything that would anger them further. Standing frozen, the sounds of high-voltage sparks brought him back to the command he'd just been given.

He lifted his lips a bit. It wasn't exactly a snarl, more just opening his mouth.

"For fuck's sake! Bare your teeth, you idiot! Look mad!"

Markus was far more scared than angry, but they didn't seem to care as more taser pops went off around him. The terror and his growing confusion made him forget what had just been told and he panicked.

"W-what?" he asked, voice trembling. He could feel his legs starting to shake again and his arms were not far behind.

"Get angry, gods dammit!" the ram shouted. "We took you from that kit you're always moaning about, left him with that junkie bitch of yours! Give us a growl about it!"

If the ram had really been looking for a growl, that had been the right combination of words to get it. Deep inside his mind, a long buried neural connection sparked back to life. Something primal flooded out from it to push aside all his fear and filled the void with adrenalin. His vision tunneled, and he could feel the fury build inside him. It was entirely different from the rage he felt when they did that _thing_ to him. This was something else, something that was his. He couldn't remember ever having it before, much less having lost it, but now that he'd found it again, he owned it, and he intended to use it.

His narrowed vision focused on the ram in front of him. He could feel the rumble in his throat, but he couldn't hear it. He could hear the ram, though.

"Yes. Good. That's it."

…

Among Kivo's many recent regrets, was that parade through the brokerage floor just now. He wouldn't have made this much of a show for anyone but Rigel, and everyone knew it. As their leader, he had quite a bit of discretion on how he chose to use his authority, but the overt favoritism still wasn't professional, and it definitely wasn't becoming of an alpha.

He knew they would overlook the outburst, everyone was on edge these days, but it was the principle of the matter, regardless. He had personal standards of excellence that he wished to uphold, and this instance was just going to be another entry on a growing list of his failures to do so.

He didn't have very far to go down the hallway, so he made an effort to get ahold of himself before he could make it much further. In the same way that Rigel could project anxiety into him, he would be able to reflect it back, and the last thing he needed to do was create a feedback loop. Forcing his attitude to one exuding a calm resilience would be the best way he could help the situation.

Looking around the derelict corridor did nothing to set him at ease. Tacky wood-paneled walls sitting on either side of garish blue-speckled carpet called back to an era before he'd been born. The despondent tableau was topped by sagging, if not missing, drop-in ceiling tiles and dim, flickering fluorescent fixtures, the incessant hum of which did its best to drive him and the other keen-eared predators to madness. It was confining and did nothing to disarm the notion of being buried alive. Even if the environment was completely antithetical to one's psychological well-being, it did not score high marks for being conducive to productivity, either.

Still trying to calm himself, he closed his eyes and remembered their _real_ offices, which he refused to think of as their _old_ offices. Taking up the bulk of the ninetieth floor, it was a mostly wide-open space.

Floor-to-thirty-foot-ceiling glass walls overlooked nearly every part of the city, and the heated black marble floor was always comfortable beneath their bare feet.

His personal office was along the east side. If he looked behind him, he had a gorgeous view of Tundra Town and if he looked ahead of him, a soundproofed glass wall, and always open door, separated him from what everyone referred to as _'the pit'_.

His traders sat at large, low latency stations with four monitors each, arrayed in semi-circular rows around an oversized central mast. Live ticker values, projection graphs, sector valuations, and sometimes even the weather circled a curved screen that wrapped the full circumference of the pillar. Scattered across the floor had been many other displays showing broadcasts from all the major news networks, both international and domestic. The sharp-eyed, quick-witted predators took in all of it.

Past the pit was Rigel's domain. The seating arrangement on that side was more organic, with odd numbers of desks clumping together as needed or in islands by themselves. Vast wheeled whiteboards roamed randomly throughout the day as their surfaces hosted an ever-changing array of multi-colored cryptic symbols and hieroglyphic characters. These were the quants, developers, and risk analysts that forged the spears and shields his hunters took into battle. They may have swapped steel for algorithms, and game for dividends, but the principle was explicitly the same.

The white lounge couches, the foosball and pool tables, and the small, but well stocked bar that was seldom used for anything more than mean expressos; he could see it all, smell it all, but when he opened his eyes again, it was the same claustrophobic nightmare that it had been before he'd closed them. It was an _actual_ pit and now it felt even smaller.

He shook himself physically and tried his best to keep his ears perked. Rigel would see right through any mannerisms he forced, but a performance was the best he was going to be able to muster today.

As opposed to their _real_ offices, which he hoped were still intact some ninety-two floors above him, these ones did not allow for the same open floor plan. He'd liked that aspect of the pit, as well; there was nowhere to hide, and all ideas were discussed in the open. Collaboration was key; there were no lone wolves in his pack.

But more than half his traders had taken the severance offer, and he'd wished them honest luck and held nothing against them for doing so. Rigel's losses had been more severe, and it was just him and two analysts left. Normally not enough bodies to keep a ship this big afloat, he was probably overstaffed now that the investor pool had taken an emergency vote to place the fund into an indefinite holding pattern, strictly limiting what actions he was able to take with it.

Even so, he hated that they were not all in the same room. J.P. Maregan was not the only firm in the city doing everything they could to keep their predator staff hidden and out of sight...when they kept them at all, and no one needed to feel separated from the group during this chaotically uncertain time. Rigel was only ten yards down the hall, but that wasn't the point.

Kivo realized that he was wasting time, and that he need to wolf-up and get on with helping his packmate. As he got closer to the door, though, he could smell that Rigel's scent was further down the hall, not in his office. Curious and concerned, he kept moving past the door, but at a significantly quickened pace.

It was a bit of a maze down here and he tracked the scent trail to the end of the hall, taking a left, then a right and then another left before he walked past an open door and lost the scent. He stopped, then backtracked, and poked his head into the dark room.

It was dark, but as his eyes adjusted, it wasn't completely so. A soft yellow glow emanated from somewhere in the back corner, behind the abandoned cubicles. Hearing rapid panting and smelling the fraught anxiety the room was filled with, he knew the yellow light could only mean one thing.

For something that was capable of delivering enough electricity to one's jugular to knock out cold a nine-hundred-pound polar bear, there was surprisingly, or perhaps _suspiciously_ , little literature on the specific conditions which would lead to being dropped unconscious by a TAME Band. Of the few things that were known were the various warning levels that preceded its happening.

Solid green was all clear, nothing to worry about. Blinking green might occur during a hard workout, but not necessarily, and was described as nothing to worry about either. Solid and blinking yellow were triggered as increasingly high levels of aggression were detected. Precisely what method was being used to measure this aggression ( _'I'd love to license it for candidate evaluation next hiring cycle,'_ Kivo thought to himself sarcastically.) was unclear. In addition to the yellow light, these levels were also accompanied by warning beeps, which Kivo could hear intermittently now as he hurriedly padded the wall, searching for a light switch.

The last color code was purely for the benefit of any bystanders, because if your TAME Band status light went red, it was likely you would find yourself too preoccupied with wishing for death to ogle it. This, Kivo knew from firstpaw experience.

The various levels were of course subject to being skipped. A blinking green might jump to a blinking yellow, or in Kivo's unfortunate case just last week, from solid green to solid red. His pretense at staying calm and collected was melting fast as the remembered sensation, more so than the specific memory of the event, psychosomatically prickled his skin.

It had been completely without warning or reason. Kivo could maybe think of at least one reason it might have happened, but he couldn't bring himself to believe it, lest the world really be much further gone than he was willing to admit. If only to prove some kind of point, his lawyer, one of the best in the country, was trying to dig out some kind of settlement from this, but he was mostly chasing his tail due to Kivo having acquired his band through unofficial channels.

Kivo didn't want the money, though; he wanted an explanation, specific and comprehensive. He wanted the formulas, the thresholds, the parameters, the studies, the trials; any data at all on why he had nearly bitten his tongue off. He wanted these things because he didn't believe in the entire premise of the collars in the first place. They were meant to knock out savages, but he had neither gone savage nor been knocked out. The only thing that had happened, was that he'd been tortured with excruciating pain with no justification. It had been like being on fire, drowned, and crushed all at once, and all while his best friend was forced to watch, powerless to do anything about it.

He knew it had been almost as painful for Rigel to see as it had been for him to experience, and in Rigel's already damaged state, it had been even more devastating to the painted wolf's mental fortitude. Happening again, and in the reverse, might be more than either could handle.

Not even half the lights in the dusty, cobweb-covered room flickered to life, but the sickly yellow glow and the fearful scent left more than enough trail for him to follow to the end of the cubicle row. Nothing could quite have prepared Kivo for what he saw when he made it to the last one.

Officially, it was Kivo who was the face of the department, but when it came to matters of the fund, neither had supremacy over the other. Both the traders and the analysts were equal parts of the whole, and when it came to the big decisions, Kivo and Rigel had to come to an agreement before they could proceed. A cursory assessment might have returned the theory that they were incapable of checking and balancing each other due to their close relationship, but in practice, that relationship only meant that they were more comfortable fiercely defending their positions and even less likely to give ground on something important.

In their personal lives, who played the role of alpha was fluid given the situation and which of their complementary strengths was most required. Maybe when they had been younger, when they'd been less confident in themselves, they would have jockeyed for the honor, but these days, neither held any resentment when one took on the burden of leadership, and each only attempted to do so when they knew they were the stronger option.

It was a feature of being stronger together than they were apart. They were able to take advantage of more strengths and suffer from less weaknesses this way. It was knowing that you always had someone watching your back, that you were always watching theirs in return, and that the mutual reliance could always be counted on in a time of need. Kivo honestly couldn't comprehend how non-pack species managed without this comfort, or how those few real lone wolves managed to exist at all, because even now, he wouldn't give it up for anything.

It wasn't easy, though, and while the situation had clearly demanded that he be the alpha for the past few weeks, he was not very satisfied with the job he'd done at it. That was going to change now, though. It had to change now, for both their sakes.

Kivo's eyes had adjusted somewhat to the low light, and he could see the mad look in Rigel's as he approached. The painted wolf was sitting on the floor against the wall with his knees up and his paws holding his temples as his dark black muzzle, the only place on his body with any consistent fur coloring, hung gaping as his whiskers twitched with rapid, shallow breaths and quiet whimpers.

It was really killing Kivo to see his brother like this. He didn't know what it was that separated them now, but he was sure it wasn't because he was any stronger. Rigel thought about things differently than he did, and could see patterns he couldn't. Maybe it was only ignorance that kept his mind from breaking too.

He kneeled down in front of the shaking wolf, relying on instinct for how to proceed next.

"Hey," he said gently.

He wasn't sure exactly what he expected of this, but he certainly hadn't expected nothing, which is what he got. No reaction to his voice at all, the quivering mass of marbled spots in front of him continued to stare blankly, right through Kivo.

He tried again, this time extending his paw to pull Rigel's down from his face. "Hey, Ry. It's okay."

The physical contact finally produced a reaction, but not the one Kivo had been hoping for.

Rigel's eyes went to him and he froze for a moment, but then with quick suddenness he pushed the paw away and frantically tried to stand up. Kivo, standing up too, backed off reflexively as Rigel, essentially cornered now, backed himself into the actual corner, practically tripping over his own tail, with his patterned paws raised up in defense.

"Don't!" he yelled nervously. "It'll shock you too!"

Rigel was hyperventilating now, and this only increased the whimpers he probably didn't even realize he was making. Kivo was overcome with the stench of how terrified he was of this happening.

"No one's getting shocked, brother." He took a tentative step toward him. He knew he shouldn't be further cornering him, but he also knew if he didn't get whatever this was - a panic attack? - under control, then the promise he'd just made would inevitably become a lie.

"C'mon," he said with another slow step forward, "Let's get that thing off you."

He reached one of his auburn paws up towards the yellow light and Rigel didn't protest much, but he did close his eyes and tense his shaking body.

Kivo felt hot breath on the back of his paw as he reached for the clasp, and felt the visceral pounding of an adrenalin-soaked heart when he made contact with Rigel's neck. As his red paws felt for the release, Kivo considered that Rigel was correct: he would get shocked too if it happened. He definitely did not ever want to feel that again, but the two wolves were in this together now, and whatever was going to happen, they'd face it as one.

He had been confident that it wouldn't happen, though, up until his digits pushed in on the release clips. The clips remained firm, and he felt the panic that his nose was begging him to identify with starting to win out.

"Why's it locked?!" Kivo exclaimed, utterly unable to mask the worry in his tone, and much less in his scent.

Rigel's pattering heart stopped momentarily, and his breathing froze as he quietly questioned, "Locked?"

The panic resumed, and realization followed. "I-I-I didn't lock it!" he stammered as he brought up his paws to try and push Kivo off him.

Kivo wasn't budging as he tried squeezing the clasp again. He knew it was locked because he had tested that feature with his own collar; currently still green to the best of his knowledge. It had been off his neck when he'd done it, of course, but it was as simple as sliding a toggle in the app on his phone. Unlocking it could be done by entering either a pin number, a passphrase, swiping a specific pattern of dots, or even with his padprint. He'd never activated that feature again after he'd unlocked it that first time, but he knew that his clasp had felt exactly the same way as the one he now squeezed between his digits.

Just then, the low intermittent tone became a rapid, high-pitched beeping that filled his ears. It reminded him of the alarm on the old wristwatch he used while swimming, except this was just a bit quicker, and quite a bit louder. It was also accompanied by the equally fast blinking of the yellow status light. Under that, coil whine began sweeping up through the audible frequencies as a capacitor charged in preparation for Kivo's failure to keep his promise.

The red wolf froze, but his thoughts were in overdrive, calculating scenarios as fast as he could. The cacophony froze Rigel too, but he quickly resumed trying to get Kivo off of him as he started repeating the word "No" feverishly.

Not by enough to have mattered in an actual fight, red wolves were built a slight bit stronger and bulkier than their painted cousins, and under the current circumstances Rigel was unable to throw Kivo off. It didn't matter though as Kivo had come to the realization that the collar had probably locked itself automatically after entering the yellow warning state. That factoid hadn't been in the manual either.

Abandoning the TAME Band, he firmly placed both his paws on his best friend's shoulders. "You have to calm down, brother," he said as evenly as he could. He knew this was their only hope now.

Rigel switched from frantic 'No's' to insistently repeating, "It's going to shock you, it's going to shock you, it's going to shock you," nearly crying as he said it; the piezo metronome still shouting from his neck.

Under all this, he still cared for Kivo's safety, and Kivo wasn't about to reward him for it with abandonment. Not again. He knew Rigel would never abandon him, and as an old but never forgotten memory shot to the forefront of his mind, he knew that for a fact.

Quickly and firmly, he said, "Costa Visum."

He didn't get any response as Rigel continued, inconsolable. He shook Rigel's shoulders, then threw his weight into pinning them against the wall as he more forcefully shouted, "Costa Visum! What did you tell me?!"

Leaving his left paw to pin his shoulder, Kivo used the other to grasp Rigel by the muzzle, holding it shut to quiet him. He dug his hind claws into the carpet and used his forearm to push the painted wolf harder against the wall. It didn't stop the whimpers, but Kivo spoke up anyways, quiet but still forceful, as he directed the other wolf's frenzied eyes to look into his. "What did you tell me in Costa Visum?"

With their noses just an inch apart, their eyes locked in on each other and finding a flicker of understanding in Rigel's, Kivo released his muzzle and placed both his red paws back on the shoulders of the relentlessly panting, but otherwise quiet wolf.

"What did you tell me in Costa Visum, brother?" he asked again, articulating each word clearly and gently, only saying each loud enough to overcome the volume of Rigel's heavy breaths.

By the time their third year of university had rolled around they had long since been inseparable. It was in their second semester that year that they had decided to take classes abroad. Having the dual features of being both something plausibly related to their field of study and actually being a four-month tropical vacation, the Emerging Overseas Markets program was the perfect prospect.

Kivo was from a family of means; not as many means he had now, but enough so that the travel expenses and tuition premiums hadn't be a problem. Rigel had to work his tail off to get a grant, but Kivo had been more than helpful with proofing his essays. They had the money, their program acceptance, and each other.

Their last day of winter break was a shenanigans-filled eleven-hour flight from the blustery snow drifts of Pawlantis International to the rolling surf and warm sands of Alto Arbrés, capital city of Costa Visum, a vast, but sparsely populated island several hundred miles off Zootopia's Panthalassic coast.

Sovereign, so long as they never exercised the right, the now Zootopian protectorate had been discovered some two millennia ago, at the dawn of the Unification Era. With neither the ink on their treaties, nor the blood on their swords yet dry, the young and fledgling Zootopian Union had made no effort to project its fragile influence onto such a faraway place. Not exactly altruistic in their restraint, the nonintervention was mostly due to a combination of distance, lack of particularly unique resources, and the unruly nature of the island's untamed inhabitants.

While the new empire might not have deemed it worth the trouble, that hadn't stopped fleets of privateers and explorers from braving the seas to determine its value for themselves. Covered in dense jungle and bloody conflict, these intrepid sailors made landfall thousands of years in the past, or so they had thought.

Tribal in nature, and still engaged in perpetual warfare, the predators of that island had not yet gained the enlightenment of their mainland counterparts, or so the story goes from the prey pioneers that told it. Truth or not, it had been the prey aboriginals who had most benefited from the new world arrivals.

With the interior jungle dominated by predators, the coasts were exclusively occupied by prey, and for the mariners that survived the encounter, they found two things. One, was the respect, or rather fear, from any prey tribes that had failed to overpower them, and second were vast complexes of stone architecture in a style never before seen on the mainland.

Buried deep within the myths and legends of nearly every culture in the world there could always be found a story concerning some long-lost kingdom whose power and knowledge exceeded that of even the modern age. Each of these stories ended with various cataclysms; angering a particular Maker or bending the laws of nature until it destroyed them were among the most popular, but it was flooding that was the universal thread that bound all these stories together.

Now commonly accepted, the HaplorhiniDominion consisted of a previously unknown, and now extinct, branch of mammalian species who seemed to have taken early advantage of the _Simul Consurgant_ eons before any other species had. Myths of high-technology notwithstanding, their notable achievements included the wheel and arch, aqueducts and waste removal, progressive legal codes and advanced trigonometry. Beyond what was left behind, not much was known about how they lived or how they died, but modern orbital cartography did confirm that the island had previously been more than ten times larger, a continent in its own right, and that it had indeed been flooded at the end of the last ice age.

At the time of first discovery, none of this had yet been known, and seeing the grand stone edifices and towering statues commanded the awe and wonderment of the explorers who gazed upon them. These architectures were found nowhere else in the world, and intrepid Zootopian scholars got busy cutting their academic chops on the new discovery.

To the cosmic misfortune of the many varieties of felidae, including several unique, and some now extinct, species, it was the undersized elephants, oversized rodents, and other misproportioned plant-eaters that were the ones to trade in their pointy sticks for sharpened steel, and rock slings for slug throwers as they in turn provided security for the many Zootopian expeditions eager to explore the ruins.

Even two thousand years later, the effects of unnaturally flipping the balance of power so far past parity were still evident in the island's culture and highly skewed socio-economic distributions along prey-predator lines. Regardless of the debates over the consequences of disrupting the previously untouched civilization, the arrow of time had marched forward and what had been done could not be undone. Biting and clawing as it went, the anachronistic island had been dragged into the light of civilization, democracy, and progress… _mostly,_ anyways.

Of far larger importance than all that rich and colorful history, was specifically how many shots of the local spirits Kivo and Rigel could down before they passed out, and whether or not the phyletic felines were as adventurous in bed as the regular ones back home; they hadn't been disappointed in the results of either inquiry. But, after no more than three weeks of woofing down the many exotic delights Costa Visum had to offer, and even going to class on occasion, they too had been struck with the urge to do some pathfinding of their own.

The fact that it had been a terrible idea from the start had only made it more tantalizing to their adolescent lupine brains.

It had started with a fairly standard cab ride to one of the school-designated no-go wards of Alto Arbrés. Continued repetition of the warnings to be careful and the phrase _"This isn't Zootopia,"_ countered by the continual experience of sun-drenched beaches, perfect surfing swells, _friendly_ locals, and smooth liquor only egged on their rebellious desensitization to the scare tactic.

The bar they'd planted themselves at had been a lot more exotic and _culturally immersive_ than the touristy ones closer to their host campus. The polymer notes used on the island had a laughable exchange rate against the Zootopian dollar and most denominations had more zeros on them than the combined two wolves had digits to count on. Feeling like kings with their first world wealth, Kivo had slid one of the larger denominations to the boar barkeep and asked if he knew anyone who could show them some ruins.

The bartender laughed as he took the gratuity, and it would be Rigel who later realized that while Kivo had meant to slide him something like a five-dollar bill, he'd actually given him something closer to a fifty. The next morning, and two more of the notes Kivo had accidently used the night before, they were off. It was a three-hour, high-speed expedition over bumpy dirt roads and under low-hanging trees in a jeep that was easily twice as old as they were. Tongues out and tails wagging, they loved it.

Their guide, a disconcertingly tall capybara calling himself Sez, left many things to be desired, and understood, with his thick accent and poor grasp of the Zootopian language. Other than for comedic purposes, the wolves didn't care much as they followed him and a machete through the stick and deep into the rainforest.

It had been more than worth it when they'd finally made it to the first stone arch. Consensus had never been reached as to how exactly the stone formations were made to stand for so long, but none of the prevailing theories were on either wolf's mind as they stared in awe at the defiant rock. Several more hours of exploration had led them through great halls, carved galleries, and an extensive tunnel system that ran labyrinths underground. It was utterly fantastic, and even without knowing what was to come next, they had both been sure that this experience would stick with them for the rest of their lives.

The sun had already passed its zenith when they'd started the free climb of near vertical steps to the top of an ancient temple mound. From what they'd been promised, at the summit was an unparalleled view of the jungle canopy. Given what else they'd seen that day, they had no reason to doubt it.

Only about a third of the way up, a misplaced red paw sent Kivo nearly a quarter of the way back down. In the process of climbing to the next step, the mortar securing the one he was already standing on gave way. Utilizing his quick reflexes, he'd initially been able to catch himself, but the sudden shock caused even more of the stone below him to turn to gravel. The resultant rockslide had probably been gathering potential for centuries, just waiting for a pair of smarmy wolves to set it in motion.

Before any of the party had even realized it, the red wolf had lost twenty feet of altitude and was continuing to gain speed. A short distance later, his fall was arrested abruptly, and even from that distance, Rigel could hear, perhaps even feel, the clean break of Kivo's ankle as it wedged itself tight in a stone fissure.

Hoping that it was maybe an actual stick, Rigel was dashed of that possibility only a second later as Kivo's guttural yowl sent every bird to flight within a mile. Rigel climbed back down as fast as he could, their guide close on his tail.

"What do we do?" the patterned canine had frantically asked Sez as his counterpart continued grunting, growling and whimpering in agony.

Heavily accented, and waving his paws in front of him as he shook his head, Sez called out, "Net és ku yami! Net és ku yami!"

With not a single clue what that meant, Rigel tried to make it clear he didn't understand. The rodent switched to repeating about the only Zootopian word he knew fluently. "No. No. No," he'd said resolutely while continuing to wave his paws and shake his head. Then he'd turned and started walking away.

Rigel, terrified, naïvely asked, "You going to get help?"

He got the same response as before and the rodent continued walking. Rigel made to grab him, with the intention of pinning him to the ground and forcing him to speak something he could understand, but the creature bolted at the attempt, disappearing on all fours into the bush. Rigel thought to give chase, but it was rough terrain, even for a wolf, and if he ended up like Kivo, he knew that would be the end of it for both of them.

Looking back on it, it was obvious that their guide was short on Kivo's survival odds and didn't want the trouble of having a dead Zootopian pup on his paws. Even a breathing, but gravely injured one would still have caused him difficulties, and he'd likely decided it was best to just wash himself of the problem then and there rather than to risk it vexing him later.

At the time though, Rigel had taken a long moment to stare at the jungle refusing to realize that their bastard guide was not coming back. Muzzle gaping and paws shaking, he'd never been more scared in his life; his best friend still howling with agony behind him.

After getting Kivo's foot dislodged from the stone, and a lot more wailing on his part, they'd tried to gather stock of their situation. Both their canteens were nearly empty, and the three power bars in their pack seemed to jeer that they would only serve to prolong the inevitable. Even if they'd had a cell phone, which weren't yet in common use at the time, it wouldn't have been of much use with as far off the trail as they were, and neither particularly remembered the route they'd taken to get there.

Kivo was in enough pain to stunt critical thought, and Rigel was the owner of two out of the three working legs they had between them. The painted wolf had no choice but to step up and take on the mantle of alpha.

With only their wits and each other to rely on, it was rough hiking, both for Kivo, being dragged on a sled made from sticks crudely lashed together with parts from Rigel's shirt, and for Rigel, the one doing the dragging. Rigel missed that shirt as vines sporting thorns bigger and sharper than his own claws dug into his flesh, and exotic insects made no reservations to swarm and dine on him. Out of necessity, several of those insects became reluctant and unsatisfying sustenance for both wolves.

Day three had been day two without water, but the discovery of a small stream had offered them both hope, and a direction to hike in. As they'd lapped up the water directly, they'd both silently prayed that the old sayings about civilization always being built downstream were more than just false tropes.

That evening, the physical exhaustion and lack of nutrition had caught up to them severely. Being that it was Monday, the school had surely noticed their absence by then and they'd spent the night fantasizing about the full-blown search and rescue mission that was probably being launched from Costa Visum's ZAF naval base as they spoke. But they could hear no fleet of Black Hawks roaming the skies, nor see any black-clad special forces units trudging towards them through the thick vegetation. Unspoken between them was the realization that they hadn't told anyone where they were going before they'd left; at nearly fifty thousand square miles, there was just too much island, and just too many places to search for there to be any realistic hope of rescue.

Beyond Kivo's three one-night-stands with a pre-med coyote the year before (and one more with her dhole lab partner), neither had any specific medical expertise, but it was still clear that the poorly splinted ankle was not getting any better and Kivo's scent suggested that it was already getting a lot worse.

"You have to go on without me," Kivo had insisted the next morning.

"What?" Rigel had replied.

"You can cover a lot more ground if you're not dragging me behind you."

"No." Rigel had shaken his head, looking hurt.

Frustrated from the pain, hunger, and exhaustion, Kivo had shouted at him. "If you don't leave me, we're both going to die!"

Rigel didn't flinch, but his ears drooped. Slowly, he knelt on the damp ground in front of Kivo and put both his paws on the other wolf's shoulders. They looked each other right in the eye, and Rigel left no room for interpretation of his conviction as he spoke.

"I'm not leaving you."

Twenty years later, it was Kivo who had his paws on Rigel's shoulders. He squeezed them gently and nodded his head with a weary smile as he warmly replied, "That's right. So why do you think I'd ever leave you?"

Rigel's eyes studied Kivo's red face and his body, still tense, stopped fidgeting. His panting was still fierce, but it was no longer running beyond his control.

"We're in this together, brother," Kivo continued. "That's never going to change."

Slowly, Rigel got control of his breathing, and his heart followed suit. The beeping faded, and his collar stepped down to solid yellow, then to a slow pulsing green. After several long minutes of standing there under the reassuring weight of Kivo's red paws, the solid green light returned.

…

 _They took you from your kit._

Markus groaned as reality began prodding at his consciousness. Everything was sore. Back on the concrete floor, he considered that the cell with a cot in it must have been a dream, but his eyes landed on it as he moved his head to look around him.

Not sure why he was on the floor, he tried to remember how he'd gotten there. With difficulty, he dredged up a memory of lunging at a ram holding a video camera. Everything before that moment started flowing back into place, but he could recall nothing that had happened after. Three especially tender spots on his chest, the soreness through his arms and legs, and a familiar numbness in his digits suggested some of the parts he'd missed.

Something else began creeping back into his mind as well. The sensation was neither comforting nor debilitating, but it did seem to be provocative in some way.

" _We took you from that kit."_

The words rolled around in his head and the feeling grew stronger. The memory of his son; somewhere along the way he'd forgotten to be angry about it, or maybe, forgotten how. He remembered now, though. It had reawakened inside him, and pulled along with it other long-lost memories. He even remembered feeling this way when they'd first taken him, and he now remembered for sure that he had been taken, that his old life hadn't been something he just made up.

Markus wondered if the ram realized that he had unpacked all these things. Had that been the goal, or an accident? Either way, did they know that it had happened, and if so, did they care? The reawakened force itself interjected with a better question:

 _How can we use this?_

He made to stand up, and with difficulty, he did. They must have kept his shirt because he couldn't find it when he looked around, so he sat down on the thin mattress without it. Not particularly familiar with how his expression usually looked, he was aware that he was now scowling rather severely. There was no reason to stop, so he didn't.

It was backed by anger, and enough so that he wasn't nearly as scared as he remembered being before the rams had come. Not nearly as much as he could remember since ever being here. He was extremely hesitant to classify anything here as _good_ , but the anger didn't feel bad like the dread did.

He was still scared, but even the simplest movements used to induce gut-wrenching anxiety that _they_ would take notice of his failure to remain still, and punish him for it. Standing up from the bed, he didn't feel that any more. He began to pace around a little bit, first around the cot, then from wall to wall and the apprehension did not return.

Standing where one of the walls met the bars, he stared out of them as he began to think. Being able to move around was useful, but was that all he could do?

 _We could be doing a lot more._

Running his paw over one of the large mounting brackets securing the bars to the wall dislodged several chips of peeling age-yellowed paint. Sliding the tips of his pads over the wall, he did not mistake it for silk. The rough texture was moist and gritty. Reluctantly abusing one of his slowly healing claws, he scratched at it, and turned the surface layer into a tiny cloud of dust.

He walked back to his bed and sat on it, facing the bars. Disjointed at first, thoughts began to stitch themselves into ideas, ideas into strategies, and strategies into plans. He had been clever once, but he hadn't used those parts of his brain in quite some time now. Patiently, he pushed through the cobwebs as he stared out of the bars with a scowl, tail still, and ears alert.

Hours, minutes, days; it didn't matter, time had no meaning here, but eventually a truth made itself known to him. He still wanted desperately to see his son again, that hadn't changed. Submissively hoping for it to come to pass had not worked. Why they had him here, what they were doing with the camera, he still didn't know, but they had given him something, inadvertently or not.

A newfound resolve worked its way through him, and his priorities shifted. Seeing his son again couldn't be the thing he wanted most, when escaping this prison would inevitably need to happen first.

"I'm coming, Mike," he growled to the empty room.

…

The sky was creeping indigo, but the spongy rubber-composite path was still warm from the sun earlier in the day. The dark clouds that had crept into the mood of the city had clearly not been reflected in the artificial weather. Kivo thought that perhaps the Climate Bureau should consider putting a few grey clouds in the sky or even letting a little unscheduled rain come down outside of the Rainforest District. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to allow the atmosphere to make things any drearier, but there was still something to be said about how disconcerting it was to have the weather be at such odds with the general temperament. Seeing the contrast was worse in many ways since it put a measuring stick to just how bad things really were.

Then again, maybe he was looking at it the wrong way. Instead of comparing the two, perhaps he should just take enjoyment from the always-beautiful weather and leave it at that.

In addition to the climate, he enjoyed the feeling of being full after the dinner they'd just had; his chef had really outdone himself on some surf and squab. He drew comfort from the sound of the soft evening air rustling gently through leaves and the feeling of it brushing through his red fur. The warm synthetic loam beneath his feet was enjoyable to walk on too, and he could think of no better company than the wolf strolling next to him.

' _It had better be enjoyable'_ , Kivo mused while considering what the cost of living in this neighborhood was. The gated community he and Rigel lived in was buried deep within the Highland forest. Surrounded by tall trees, most of them real, and filled with meticulously landscaped woodland features, the simulated natural environment offered sanctuary from the unnatural concrete and steel of the city, and filtered out most of the riffraff swarming the other climate zones with a price tag as high as the mountain it sat upon. Its seclusion was satisfying to the ancient parts of the mammalian brain and neither wolf had ever regretted the purchase.

Kivo's mind wandered through other trivia about the place he called home, but he knew he was just stalling before he had to figure out something to say to the pensive painted wolf ambling next to him.

He'd forced Rigel to call it a day after he'd gotten him settled down, if only to get him out of the office so that he could pull off his collar. After walking Rigel to his car, Kivo had called his wife to set up plans with Rigel's to have the Trich's over for dinner. She hadn't questioned it, and had probably wondered why it hadn't happened sooner. Communication had never been one of their weaknesses, so he was sure he would talk to her about it later, but she hadn't felt the need to bring it up when she'd greeted him at the door after he'd come home.

Their collegiate escapades notwithstanding, they had both stayed in-species when it came to picking mates. June was more grey-timber than Kivo, but her lighter red hadn't dominated their three pups, and he'd been elated to see that their first inheritance had been his rich red coat. Rigel's mate, Aurora, was painted like him, and while her marbling was not quite as defined as his, her coloring was of much higher contrast, and their two pups had inherited the best of both traits.

Both mates had known the deal early on, that joining one was joining the pack. They hadn't flinched and after seventeen happy years for Kivo, and sixteen for Rigel, there had been few complaints about the arrangement. Rigel's mate was comfortable coming to Kivo and June with problems, and Rigel was comfortable letting her. If Rigel told Kivo's pups to do something, they respected his authority. The pack was family, and the benefits reciprocated.

There were of course the occasional spats and tiffs that were the necessary result of life and stress, and Rigel and Kivo had scrapped fang and claw more than once, but overall, there was trust. Trust that each of them had the best interest of the pack in mind. There was trust on the small things, like when June hadn't asked questions about inviting the Trich's over for dinner, and on the bigger stuff, like when Aurora had called Kivo yesterday afternoon with worries about Rigel's recently acquired insomnia and his tendency to spend the night pretending to be asleep, while staring at his nightstand, watching his TAME Band charge.

Kivo sure didn't doubt that last part. Even before today, he could see just how exhausted the wolf was when he sauntered into the office each morning. Hell, he could smell it on him. Now that he was thinking about it, the sleep deprivation probably hadn't been an insignificant catalyst for the breakdown this morning.

Kivo made a mental note that he should give a call to their vet sometime soon and convince him to bring Rigel something that would knock him out cold for a few days. They had the same concierge vet (and if one thought Kivo's neighborhood was expensive, the premiums for that service were on a whole other level), and house calls were included. Mentally shrugging, Kivo knew he could have him here in less than an hour. Even chemically induced, Rigel needed to get some sleep or today was not going to be the last or worst of it, and with the way things were going, he needed his wolf at his best, not just barely functional.

Not really sure if thinking about roofieing Rigel constituted figuring out what to say to him, Kivo was rescued from the decision when the painted wolf finally spoke up first.

"We're going to have to go out together, you know," Rigel commented, breaking the silence.

Kivo wasn't fully sure what was meant by that, and was surprised that he found himself unable to pin down the meaning behind the tone that had been used. He tilted his head towards Rigel, who was looking at the ground.

Feeling the need for clarification, Rigel followed up with, "What _you_ said in Costa Visum," putting emphasis on the word 'you' and continuing to stare at the ground in front of him with his paws in his pockets.

"I said a lot of stuff there," Kivo responded noncommittally.

They'd gone over the story so many times in their heads, discussed it so many times with each other, and embellished it so many times with friends that Kivo couldn't be entirely sure if he and Rigel had maintained consistent recollections when it came to the specifics, and it was possible the other wolf remembered something Kivo didn't.

"When you said we were both going to die…"

Rigel said it evenly, but it made Kivo flinch as a shiver traced down his spine and into his tail. He stayed quiet, though, letting Rigel lead them through the conversation as he led them through the trails.

"You were right, you know. I don't think I ever told you that."

The red wolf remembered saying it. Not a memory of telling someone about it, or of remembering that he remembered it happening, but the original memory itself. He remembered how badly his ankle hurt, how hungry he was, how he'd never been more tired in his entire life, then or since. He could remember the feeling of the muddy, lumpy ground beneath him, the rancid scent of decaying plant matter thick in the hot, humid air, and the alkaline aftertaste of the bitter insects he'd been desperate enough to eat. He remembered knowing for certain that he was going to die, and he remembered wishing that his body would just get on with it so that Rigel could go on without him. He remembered knowing that even if he did die, Rigel would waste time burying him or dragging him along in hopes of giving him something more proper after reaching civilization. Kivo remembered knowing this for a fact, because he remembered knowing he would do the same thing for Rigel. Giving him permission to leave, absolving him of the responsibility had been the only sensible course of action that gave Rigel a chance to live.

Rigel kept talking. "I knew you were right, because I'd been thinking the same thing long before you said it. And I knew what my answer was going to be long before you did."

Kivo's ears and tail fell, but he left them as they were. During the past twenty years, they'd talked about it many times, but never like this. They hadn't had to. Unspoken, they felt it just as much, but hearing Rigel give it words wasn't making it any less real, so Kivo continued to listen and stay silent.

"I couldn't live with myself if you died, Kivo. Not then, not now. That's why I didn't leave."

Rigel finally looked over at Kivo, but this time it was the red wolf that could not meet his eye.

"But it was selfish, you know? Because, see, I already knew you were thinking that you'd killed me by dragging us both down, that it was your fault if I died, and I knew how much you couldn't stand that."

Kivo continued looking at the ground, lost in the truth of it. Echoes of the guilt plucked at his heart and if he had tried to put the feeling into words himself, he could have done no better.

"But I didn't understand it. Not until today. I couldn't stand the idea that you were going to get yourself shocked too, just because I lost control. I didn't want to drag you down with me."

Kivo knew what he meant because he remembered feeling the same thing. It had been another day and night after he'd begged and pleaded with Rigel to leave him behind before they'd stumbled onto a gravely dirt road winding through the jungle, and another night and morning before the rusty olive-drab ZAF humvee finally drove by on a routine patrol and rescued the delirious wolves. The whole time before that had been unbearable anguish knowing that his packbrother was going to die out there and that it was his fault.

But they hadn't died. Whether by luck or gritty determination, they'd made it. Parched muzzles and dry noses, mange and malnourishment, fleas and ticks the size of cherries; Rigel's pads had been so worn down and bloodied he'd been bedridden for over a week, and it took two surgeries and five months of crutches before Kivo could put weight on his ankle again. It took a lot longer for him to shake the gut-wrenching guilt at almost being responsible for Rigel's death, but they'd made it. By all accounts, just barely, but they'd survived; together.

"Ry," Kivo broke in quietly. "It wasn't the same. I didn't have to put my life on the line."

"I-I know, I know. I just mean, I know you would have anyways. Neither of us can stand seeing the other get hurt, and we both can't stop ourselves from either stepping into the line of fire to take the bullet, or joining the other up against the wall."

Kivo remembered how Rigel had been just as hurt to watch him get shocked last week at the café as he had been to actually be shocked. He could also remember this morning how scared he'd been to have the roles reversed, and how it had made undeniable sense that he should join himself to whatever Rigel's fate was to be.

The conversation was important, but Kivo wasn't sure if it was helpful in this situation. He really couldn't think of a context in which it would be appropriate to talk about something so somber, but that didn't mean that it wasn't currently threatening to pull them into a depressive spiral of feeding off each other's guilt and dismay. Trying to push him towards making a point and away from the rather grim discourse, Kivo prompted, "What are you trying to say?"

Rigel shook his head. "I don't know, I just… I don't know."

Kivo sighed. He understood, and felt what Rigel had been saying and, for better or worse, he agreed with it. "If we don't die together, it's going to kill the other to go on alone," he said quietly.

Rigel remained silent, but Kivo could sense that he'd hit the precise mark.

They walked another full block in thoughtful silence before Kivo spoke up again. His tone wasn't quite sarcastic, but it wasn't quite serious either. "It would be nice if one of us stuck around to take care of the families."

"Yeah," Rigel agreed distantly.

Kivo stopped, and grabbed Rigel's arm roughly to stop him too. Rigel, a bit startled, met Kivo's yellow eyes. They were fierce, but not angry, though, the paw around Rigel's arm was squeezing hard enough to cause hurt.

Through clenched teeth, Kivo growled, "Neither of us are dyin'. Alright?"

Rigel, trying to squirm his arm away, nodded quickly.

Kivo's iron grip held him tight, and pulled him closer as he growled out, "We're surviving this, too. Together."

Resolve replaced the surprise in Rigel's eyes as he stood up a little straighter and stopped struggling against Kivo's grasp. More deliberately, he looked Kivo in the eye and gave a single curt nod. Seeing that his point had been understood, the red wolf released him.

They looped back around the neighborhood in silence, but the scent currents between them conveyed their understanding. When they arrived back at Kivo's driveway, the red wolf simply said, "I know. I know," in response to their shared strife.

Rigel had thought they might be parting ways at this point, but Kivo explained to him that he'd already discussed with Aurora that they might be out late tonight. Even though it was only a little less than three more hours until curfew, she hadn't asked why. Other than being hesitant when Kivo told him to get in the car, Rigel hadn't asked why yet either, but that was only because he was just now realizing that Kivo had planned something other than just driving around with him to talk.

"Why?" Rigel drew out the word with apprehensive curiosity.

"Just do it," Kivo commanded, shaking the open box in his paw.

Rigel didn't take his eyes off him as he slowly put the cellphone he'd just turned off into the copper coated box.

"You're sure you don't have anything else?" Kivo asked.

Rigel nodded his head. After retrieving a few twenties from it, he'd placed his wallet, full of RFID credit cards and his touchless JPM building access badge, into the box before he'd put his phone into it. Neither wore their TAME Bands outside the office and so he had nothing else that either received or transmitted a signal on his mammal.

They were in a nearly empty gravel parking lot next to an 'L' station and Kivo had just done the same with all his belongings. He had even dropped his car keys in the box and showed Rigel a fully plastic one he'd had cut. It wouldn't start the car, the real key had a security chip in it and was the reason it needed to stay behind, but the copy would still unlock the door when they returned.

Returned from where wasn't exactly clear to Rigel yet as they exited Kivo's black Aston Mastiff Vanquish, and trotted up the steps to the metro station. The Loop swung across every district, under and over ground. It was getting late, though Rigel's watch had fallen victim to the box too, so he'd had to look at the digital clock hanging down from the ceiling of the station while they waited for the next tram to arrive.

When it did, they spent more than a half hour riding through the city in the designated 'pred car', and had switched trains once before getting off at a station on the southside of the Rainforest District, near the harbor. It was zoned for low rent commercial, and light manufacturing, and it was largely abandoned at this hour. Rigel trusted his packmate and followed him several blocks without question.

Crossing by some of the dark alleyways made Rigel nervous, but having Kivo next to him this time made him feel more confident. Eventually the red wolf stopped at one and walked down the dark corridor. Night vision was compensating, but Rigel's fur still bristled at the ominous unknown.

Kivo approached one of the service doors about two thirds of the way down and stopped. He turned to Rigel, and sensing his apprehension, put a paw on his shoulder and whispered reassuringly, "Keep an open mind, brother."

He turned back to the door and knocked once, paused briefly, then knocked three more times in rapid succession.

Rigel chuckled quietly, recognizing the pattern. It was a relic from their fraternity days, but Rigel doubted that Kivo had dragged him all the way out here for a reunion. The door buzzed and Kivo pulled it open.

The long hallway, well-lit with creamy eggshell walls, offered only one other door at its far end. They walked through it and entered a more typical office hallway lined with doors. It wasn't very much further when Kivo turned one of the door handles and stepped inside.

Probably a multi-purpose room, the space was open and mostly empty of furniture. A folding table offered smells of cheap pastries and cheaper coffee, and several metal folding chairs had been arranged in a lopsided circle at the center of the room.

Some of the dozen or so mammals already present looked up to greet them, and others continued milling about, chatting with each other, and drinking the mediocre coffee.

Rigel, not believing what he was seeing, nor how he hadn't seen it before, quickly put a paw on Kivo's shoulder. The red wolf turned around to see his concerned expression and met it with a bit of confusion.

There were at least three other canids in here, but Rigel tried to whisper under their audible range. "How didn't I know?"

"Know what?" Kivo replied, unsure how his companion had worked out the secret so quickly.

"That you had a…" Rigel's eyes were woeful, and his concern was sincere as he searched for the word. " _A problem."_

Kivo narrowed his eyes and splayed his ears as his head canted pretty far over in thoughtful curiosity. Figuring out Rigel's meaning, he burst out with a hearty laugh, the likes of which he hadn't felt in months. Rigel stood there confused until Kivo had exhausted his mirth.

Still chuckling and holding his stomach, Kivo patted his other paw on Rigel's shoulder and shook his head as he said, "Trust me, brother. This isn't AA."

Confused still, but apparently relieved, Rigel's features relaxed, though his head remained ever so slightly tilted. Their exchange had attracted the attention of a few of the mammals in the room and two of them had begun heading over to greet them.

"Special K! The wolf of Paw Street himself. How's The Stables treatin' ya?" a casually dressed, but energetic cheetah with broad shoulders jovially called out as he jogged up with an eager paw extended.

Both Rigel and Kivo knew the industry nickname for J.P. Maregan HQ, and Kivo matched the upbeat tone as he grasped the outstretched paw and responded, "You know how hard those horses like to ride us."

The cat smiled and replied with a laugh, "I hear ya."

The other mammal that had been zeroing on them, a slender impala, arrived to stand next to him as Kivo barbed back, "So Jasper, Feral Lynch ever gonna let you touch a commodity bond again?"

The cat gave a hearty laugh and whipped his tail back and forth. "I'll be lucky if ZSEC doesn't cut my paws off!"

The impala and Kivo both laughed, but Rigel wasn't entirely sure what they were talking about.

"I think we, _they_ stopped doing that a few centuries ago," the impala quipped cheerfully, gracefully stepping over what seemed to Rigel to be a misspoken word.

"Lucky for you," Jasper said coyly as he looked down and put an arm around her.

It was impossible to miss how relaxed Kivo had just become. His excited delight to be here was genuine and Rigel could feel it radiating off him. Other than knowing that this wasn't AA, he still had no idea where he was, but if his packmate could feel this casual, even happy, then Rigel had every reason to feel the same. All the tension from the events of the day, and all the days previous started to melt away, and the more Kivo talked, the better he felt.

"I think they're pretty busy right now, anyways, so you're probably safe," Kivo mused sardonically with a paw on his chin. He turned to Rigel and put a paw on his back as he said, "Rigel, this is Jasper Hydrum." Gesturing back to Rigel, "Jasp, this is Rigel Trich."

"Pleasure," the cat said with a wide smile and extended paw.

Kivo turned to Rigel with a head nod. "You remember that short squeeze last week?"

Of course, Rigel did. He'd thought for sure that it was _the end_ when it had happened. Starting just a few ticks after market open, a curious, but not wholly unordinary trading spike saw nearly every open interest contract for coltan futures purchased in a single transaction. What would have been merely an interesting anomaly a few months ago became quite the attraction for the opportunity-starved market.

Fearing that someone knew something they didn't, and hoping to cash in on it, it was the day traders who first began swarming to the mining stocks and related industries, arresting their fall, and driving up their value for the first time in weeks. Within a half hour of day open, the swarm had forced the share prices high enough that the various trading algorithms and intelligence engines had started to take notice of the upward momentum, and began making automated moves with the overlying derivatives. It was around this time when threshold alerts and portfolio rebalance warnings had informed Rigel, and his counterparts at other firms, of the developing situation. Blood in the water; the race was on.

Under normal market circumstances the story would have stopped there, but when there is only one game in town, just one port in a storm, a single north-bound trend in a great recession, the resulting rush was inevitable. Speculating that this was similar to the Talon Defense runup a few weeks ago, many watched and waited, and while they did, the significant factor that differed between these two events began to unravel.

A relatively recent invention of the financial alchemists, a new commodity bond derivative had offered investors the chance to turn the relatively safe and stable corporate mining bonds into high-excitement, high-risk roulette tables. Even before the savage crisis, Rigel had lost a tuft of fur, but won the argument over standing ground against adding these plutonium fuel rods to the fund. After the crisis began, any investor brave enough to touch them at all, was betting against them, hoping to make a buck when their value crashed. But as the run on the underlying mining stocks continued, up and up the value went, and with it, the potential losses for those that had bet they'd go down.

Fearing which way the herd was stampeding, another large transaction closed out a massive short position on these investments, saving the trader from any more losses as the value continued to rise. But this only exacerbated the situation and forced other players to close out their positions, too. Every time someone closed out, it cost the next one in line even more, and margin calls on unrelated stocks began flooding though the market as investors tried to raise enough capital to close out their holdings and tourniquet their hemorrhaging losses.

Market circuit breakers popped, and two manufacturing companies and a logistics firm had their stock value beat down to zero. Other risky investments began falling apart in other sectors, forcing similar races there. Rigel remembered huddling around flashing red screens with Kivo and his traders, watching the numbers spiral out of control as the infection swept like wildfire through the system, tanking every sector it touched. Someone had set fire to a crowded theater and the doors were locked.

By noon that day, things had gotten so bad, ZSEC had placed an emergency halt on all trading for the day, and declared later that afternoon that they were 'resetting the board', meaning that all trades for the day were null and void and that all holdings and valuations would be reverted to what they'd been at opening bell. It was like resetting a gaming console after failing a mission, but ZSEC couldn't roll back the memory of it happening too, and that look over the edge, and seeing the gaping abyss staring back, changed every mammal that had witnessed it.

A similar course of events had occurred the next morning and with great reluctance, it was declared that trading was to be suspended for the rest of the week, and that banking holidays were in effect as well. Through fiat decrees and sheer force of will, the financial system was holding itself together, for now, but Rigel knew that such things could not last forever.

The memory of this shuddering some of the ease that Kivo had set him in, Rigel now realized the meaning behind the earlier quip. Half awestruck, half petrified, he asked, "You closed out that first short position?"

The big cat gave a falsely innocent grin, opened his paws in sardonic surrender, and with a non-committal raise of his eyebrow, offered mischievously, "Be fast or be last."

"They can come after him if they like, but there wasn't anything illegal about it," the impala's high voice added.

The cat smiled and pulled her in closer as she leaned into him. "Rigel, this is Irene," Jasper said with his other spotted paw gesturing towards her.

She put her hoof out and Rigel shook it. "Nice to meet you."

"I guess she'd know. She's former ZSEC." The big cat grinned wide and looked down at her against his side. "It's how we met," he added with a genuine note of sweetness in his voice.

She looked up at him and returned the smile. "It's why I had to resign," she replied with friendly sharpness.

"Glad you did," the cheetah purred his contentment. With a defiant sneer, he flicked his ears, and added, "I was too quick to catch, anyways."

She chuckled as she nestled into him, and countered tenderly with, "I think I caught you in the end."

It was a clear to Rigel that there was probably a pretty good story in there somewhere, and not just concerning the interspecies aspect of it. That didn't bother him, though. He'd done the same through high school and college, but never with a prey. He didn't have much time to wonder what that was like, or to speculate on what led to her resignation after meeting this wildcat trader, when Kivo jumped back into the conversation.

"You know who's got the file tonight?" Kivo asked the couple.

Both shook their head. "You got another prospect?" Jasper inquired eagerly.

Kivo motioned his head towards Rigel in response.

"He hasn't read it yet?" the cheetah asked, a bit shocked with an eyebrow raised as he very subtly held the impala closer, and wrapped his tail around her leg.

"He can read it tonight," Kivo parried.

Rigel forced himself to stay quiet, but his head began skewing with curiosity.

"Those weren't the rules, Kivo," Jasper said with slightly less amusement in his voice.

Kivo didn't quite manage to suppress a sigh just before he sharply replied at only a few levels above a growl, "I wrote the damn rules, Jasp. I know what they are."

The cat quickly put his paws up in defense. Completely at odds with how much he physically dwarfed the red wolf, his posture slouched submissively, and his ears went down. "Easy there, K. We trust ya."

"I think Roger took it last week," Irene chimed in, seemingly unworried about whatever it was that had excited Jasper.

Returning to full cordiality, Kivo replied, "Thanks." He gave a grin and a slight bow as his ears rotated to scan his surroundings. Locking in on something he began making moves to head further into the room. "Can't wait to hear your reports tonight," he added at he stepped away.

"Can't wait to give em'," Jasper replied genially as Rigel made to follow Kivo.

A few more introductions were made as they moved through the room. Rigel didn't know anyone specifically, but he did recognize a few by way of reputation. Mostly predators, they all recognized Kivo, and all offered friendly, almost reverent, greetings as he passed. Based on Jasper's earlier comment about rules, and some other subtle clues dropped by other mammals, it seemed to Rigel that Kivo was somehow in charge of whatever was going on here.

As he was introduced to more high-credentialed mammals, he grew even more curious to know what that goings-on was. There were traders from most of the rival investment banks, a few partners from the big accounting firms, a prosecution attorney, and even a small meerkat who claimed to be a procurement contractor for the ZAF.

It was near the back of the room where Kivo found Roger, a crisp white hare in a dark navy-blue sport-coat over a graphic tee. He was alone, leaning against the wall and surveying the room as he sipped coffee from a styrofoam cup.

"Roger," Kivo said evenly as he approached. He didn't extend his paw.

"Mr. Nychi," the jackrabbit replied disinterestedly, not even bothering to look up at him directly.

"I heard you have the file?"

The hare shifted and reached the paw that wasn't holding his cup into his jacket. He produced a manila folder covered with grimy smudges and coffee mug rings, fit to burst with an inch-thick stack of paper and held together at the edges by four oversized binder clips. He passed it to Kivo.

"But no recruits this week?" Kivo asked pointedly.

Finally, the red wolf had caught enough of his attention to warrant being glared at. "It's been a hard week," Roger responded dispassionately. Tilting one of his long ears towards Rigel, he continued, "I see you have one, though. And without the file, no less."

The tone was accusatory.

Kivo took it in stride, and replied with arrogant condescension as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world for Rigel to be here. "That's right."

The hare shrugged. "And to whom do we have the honor?"

"This is Rigel Trich. He runs the fund with me," Kivo explained.

"Tough work these days." The hare still sounded distant.

Kivo ignored his meaning and turned to Rigel. "You know Deep Oasis, right?"

The name flicked Rigel's ears to attention as his mind dug up the connection of why he did indeed find it familiar. Deep Oasis was the largest provider of dark pool services on the continent and he'd used it dozens of times this year alone. At the high volumes he usually dealt with, it was sometimes a valuable edge to make stock trades anonymously. But for someone who worked at Deep Oasis, those moves might not be so opaque.

"You work for Deep Oasis?" Rigel asked, not quite believing it, but at the same time trying to puzzle out how this fact fit in with the rest of the pieces.

The hare didn't look at him or make any readable expression at all other than to take another sip of coffee.

Rigel extended his paw anyways. "Either way, it's nice to meet you."

Leaving the multi-colored paw hanging, the hare gave an exhausted sigh. "Under better circumstances, perhaps. But I doubt it." He then turned and walked towards the chairs at the center of the room.

Kivo shook his head ruefully trying to figure out why he even bothered.

"Kiv, what are we doing here?" Rigel asked, the curiosity finally getting the best of him.

Kivo looked up and smiled. "Read," he said as he pushed the folder into Rigel's chest, and pointed to a rogue chair sitting along the back wall.

Rigel accepted it with a wary eye on Kivo. He kept staring even as he walked towards the chair and sat down, and only after his paws had felt out and removed two of the binder clips did he finally look down.

Opening it, the first page was mostly blank and centered by a simple message:

 _There are more bones where these came from, if one only has the courage to dig._

Rigel pondered this, considering if this was all some kind of elaborate joke, but the second page seemed to suggest that it was not. Covered in a 'CONFIDENTIAL' watermark, it listed a series of high volume call option purchases. He flipped the page and found a few more of these. Whoever these belonged to had made multimillion dollar bets that massive, normally stable and upward trending market indexes were suddenly going to switch direction severely and over the course of a relatively short period of time.

Given how bad things were, this didn't seem wholly out of the new ordinary, but something scratched at the back of Rigel's mind and he suddenly flipped back to the first confidential page and looked at the date up near the top. It was from about two months ago. His tail froze behind the chair as he flipped back through the buy orders checking the dates, and seeing that they all matched with the one from the first page.

The next series of pages were copies of a heavily redacted email chain discussing topics that seemed unrelated to the previous financial documents and mostly focused on sporting statistics, though many of the proper nouns, possibly team names, as well as the addresses of the sender and receiver had been blacked out.

After that was another page of large transactions. Massive sell orders for ticker symbol 'TALD', Talon Defense Industries, about a week after the dates on the previous ones. The following page was another email with redacted address lines that merely consisted of a single word: "out". Rigel narrowed his eyes as the next page was a print out of an article from ZNN Business titled _'ZSEC Suspends Trading of TALD on the ZSE'_.

Rigel looked up to see Kivo watching him curiously with his arms folded. "What the hell is this?" he asked with a bit of defensive accusation in his voice.

Kivo smiled gently and replied softly, "You tell me, brother."

Rigel suddenly became aware of the stillness in the room and realized that everyone else was now silently watching him. He couldn't pin down their expressions as either remorse, sympathy, or fear, but he could judge Kivo's. The red wolf was only feeling relief and Rigel couldn't help but go on.

The pages after the article were the several TALD halt orders from ZSEC with the final one being the suspension of the ticker symbol. Remembering the date and time again, he pawed back through the pages and finally caught on that they were in chronological order. The sell orders first, the email a few minutes later, and the first trading halt a few minutes after that. A few graphs on later pages showed the stock value over the same period of time.

The rest of the stack in Rigel's lap went on like that for some time. Large sells or shorts, followed by a trite email, followed by articles, ZSEC notices, and valuation statistics. The various formats suggested these reports had been queried from multiple systems, and more than a few were photocopies of puzzled together ribbons of shredded paper that were missing more than a few critical components.

On the sixth repetition of this pattern, Rigel's muzzle began to open slowly as the article in question discussed a savage incident in the middle of a shopping mall which, the graph on a later page confirmed, caused the value of the holding company to spike downwards.

Rigel's heart started racing as it dawned on him. He flipped back to the very front again and looked at the date. He knew he recognized it now.

Looking back up at Kivo, paws shaking and eyes wide, he breathed out, "Where did this come from?"

Kivo shook his head. "He didn't say."

Rigel's eyes flicked back and forth as he thought about it. He realized that he had come to the conclusion a few minutes ago, but it was too impossible to be true and he'd been racking his brain trying to figure out reasons against it. He'd found none.

Kivo could see the realization playing across Rigel's face, and he remembered his own first time reading it. The sheer horror of looking behind the curtain and how much easier it would be to deny the reality of it. He knew Rigel was strong enough to handle it on his own, but being alone hadn't been the point of bringing him out here tonight.

Knowing how hard it was to put something so terrible to words, Kivo crouched down in front of Rigel and looked him in his horrified eyes. Putting a paw on his shoulder, he rescued the painted wolf from needing to form the impossible sounds himself. Speaking with calm resolve, Kivo did it for him. "Someone is making an awful lot of money off this savage thing. We're going to find out who."

…

They had mentioned his kit, Mike, before, if only to torture him with the possibility that he had never existed, but it had never induced this type of anger those other times. Markus considered that it might have something to do with his slightly less dire situation this time around. This time he'd had a foundation, or at least the crumbled ruins of one, to leap from and grab onto whatever this was.

He had been sitting on his cot staring at the bars for quite a while now, and in that time, the anger inside of him had only grown. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Not out of control or irrational, its effect was calming and had pushed away much of the clutter that had been jamming up his thoughts. His mind was quicker, and his senses crisper. He'd even stopped shaking, though he was still cold.

There was no way to know if this would last, or if the rogue neurons inducing it would eventually burn out, but Markus decided he should make the most of it while he had it. Figuring out how to do that was not going to be an easy task.

He remembered fantasizing about escaping long ago, but this was the first he'd ever actually considered making a plan to do so. Even in his shattered state, he knew they were never going to just let him go. Now, he had the will to act on the only other option available to him.

He'd done cursory investigations of his cell and the hallway outside when he'd been placed here, but never with this type of clarity, nor with these types of intentions. His narrow muzzle fit not quite all the way through the bars, but enough that he could see further down the hall than he could from inside. He was looking for something specific, but he couldn't find it. There were no cameras here.

He pulled his head back in and paced back and forth across the bars considering this. If he could get out into the hall, they wouldn't know. If he did, would the door at the end be unlocked? If it wasn't, would there be guards outside of it? If there weren't, would he be able to find his way out of this place? If he could, were there cameras in other areas that might catch him?

The questions began piling up fast, but he forced himself to refocus on putting them into some sort of logical order, and began thinking about them one at a time.

First, he needed to get out into the hallway. He walked to one of the corners where the bars met the walls and examined the mounting brackets again. Large hexagonal bolts secured them to the concrete. Touching one, he applied some pressure to it. He hadn't considered himself to be particularly strong before all this, and he definitely wasn't now, but the little bit that he pressed gave in ever so slightly. More stony dust fell from the anchor point.

He sat back down on his cot and thought. Leverage would be needed, but with enough time, those bolts would slide free from the crumbling cinder blocks, and step one would be complete. Before that, though, he was going to need a lever; a new step one.

He leaned over and looked under his cot. It was wooden, not metal. The supports were maybe too thick for what he was planning, anyways.

His gaze roamed around his cell until it fell on his chair. A simple design, four legs, a seat, and two back bars. The bars were thinner, and were maybe something he could work with.

Walking over to it, he sized them between his digits. They might actually work, especially if they splintered to form a pointed end that could be more easily used as a wedge. Before that, though, the chair would need to be broken; another new step one.

Pushing on the wood didn't reveal any weaknesses he could readily exploit. He could swing it against the wall and smash it, but he wasn't confident he could safely make that much noise and not be noticed. He went back to sit on his cot to think about it.

There were not many alternatives for him to consider. He was going to have to break the chair, and it might as well be now. Anger steeled him with confidence again, and he stood up to walk back to the chair.

Just as he reached it, the metallic noise of the steel door at the end of the hallway reached his ears. Panic began to well up within him. Somehow, they had learned his plans, even before he'd had a chance to execute even the first step. They were here to punish him.

Scampering back to his cot, he sat down with his knees up, holding his tail and arms around them. Some of the shaking returned, but not nearly as much as before. He watched as seven rams walked into view, all holding sticks this time.

The bars opened again and several of the rams walked in.

"Come quietly fox, and we won't zap you."

"Much," another one chimed in with a laugh.

They wanted to move him now? He was in the middle of planning an escape and they were already going to move him? It didn't make sense how they knew already; he barely knew already. He coiled in on himself as much as possible, not wanting to believe this was true. Resolve faltered and fear began pouring in through the cracks.

Two of the rams approached him slowly with their poles extended. These were different from the sticks the other rams were carrying and had loops of wire dangling at the end of them.

They got closer and Markus knew they intended to put those loops around his neck. Thin patchy fur and scaly skin still held the memory of the iron they'd kept around his neck in the last cell he'd occupied. He had no intention of ever letting anything go around his neck again; he wasn't complying this time. His resistance sparked back to life, and a new idea pounced out from the back of his mind. The first step to his escape plan had already been accomplished: getting the bars open.

 _Now!_

He was already tucked, so he leaned backwards and rolled off the back side of the bed very suddenly. The rams lunged for him but missed. Coming out of the tuck, he scurried under the cot on all fours, and then out between the two rams trying to recover from their failed attack.

There were shouts of something, but Markus wasn't focused on anything but the five rams between him and the door. He dodged the first, and faked out the second. The third managed to get a hoof on his tail and he felt a tuft of fur leave him as he pulled free. This had slowed him down enough that some of the rams he'd already bested were now running to catch up to him, and the two he hadn't had prepared themselves for his approach.

Familiar pain ran through his body again as his muscle contracted violently and he dropped to the ground writhing. When the electricity stopped, he willed himself to get up, and he succeeded a little before being hit back down by blunt hooves. He struggled and growled as they held him down. Tooth and claw, he tried to find flesh, but they held him to the ground too tightly.

After only a few seconds of this, he felt one of the loops come around his muzzle, and he tried desperately to shake it off before it could get to his neck. He was not successful and a moment later felt the cold steel cable tighten quickly around his neck, trapping a growl in his throat.

His struggling became more insistent as they choked him, but they were still holding him down firmly and the second coil wrapped around him, too. Gasping for air that wouldn't come, they finally released pressure from the rest of him. He did his best to jump up, but the control point on his neck kept him down. He moved his paws up to the wires, clawing at them in a vain attempt to come free.

After a bit more struggling, the tension strangling him let up enough that he could finally get air in. He was too worn down to do anything but lay there, muzzle down, as he gasped to catch his breath.

The rams cursed and argued amongst themselves as he did, then finally came to a conclusion of what they were going to do next. He felt hooves go around his wrists, and some kind of binding go around those. He struggled to pull them free, but they remained trapped behind his back.

With great reluctance, Markus decided that his best course of action was to just go with the flow for now. He had lost the upper paw in a bad way, and he needed to wait for another opportunity before levering them again.

"Stand up!" one of the rams screamed angrily at him as he felt tension on his neck lifting him upwards.

He had just barely managed to get his numbed feet under him when a ram stepped front of him, right up in his face. "Fresh out of muzzles, so we'll break your jaw if we have to," he taunted.

Bared teeth and a throaty growl of disapproval was Markus's response.

"They already give him some today, er' what?" one of the rams behind him asked.

The ram in front of him grinned and brought up a black fabric sack. He opened it, then to Markus's horror, began trying to fit it over his head. He struggled against it, but the cord around his neck tightened. He shook his head and continued to growl, but it was of no use.

They started pushing him, leading him by the neck, and marching him forward. What they were going to do to him was anyone's guess. He continued to growl defiantly under the shroud, but also tried to comply with the vice grip around his neck that was always just one step ahead of him.

For better or worse, they were leading him through his escape plan already. Through the door at the end of the hallway, they walked to the end of a long corridor, taking a left, then a right, and then another left. They walked a little further before Markus felt his neck jerk back, almost pulling him off his feet in the process.

Turning him, they pushed him through a door, but still had him run into the side of it as he passed. His ears, blunted somewhat by the bag, immediately sounded out that he'd entered a tremendously cavernous space.

There was talking in the distance, yelling, sounds of slamming metal and above all else, lots more growling, but not from him. He could hear it in their trembling tenor that they were like him, though. Here against their will, and angry about it. He continued to growl too, feeling a macabre sort of kinship with these other captives.

As they got further into the room, the smell of the air began permeating the bag, and even more information became available to his senses. His anger brought him clarity again and he did his best to work his way through analyzing what he could smell and hear.

The smell of wooly ungulate was dominant, but deeper than that were the musty smells of old mildew, brackish water and stagnant air. There were other species here, as well. A bear, a few felines of some type, at least two wolves, and some others that he couldn't so easily identify. The same fear he felt permeated the scentscape.

With his ears, he could hear that some of the growls and roars were more distinct voices than he'd initially realized. Their shouts were many of the same pleas he'd used in the past. They hadn't worked then, and if these mammals were still trapped, then they hadn't worked for them, either. He decided to keep quiet, even to stop growling until he could figure out more.

After walking some more, and passing through what he was sure was another set of bars, they sat him down on a seat of some kind. Someone grabbed his foot and he kicked it, trying to use the claws that were there, but that only served to have his neck strangled, and have several more hooves come down to hold his feet for a reason he did not know.

It did not take very long to find out as he felt the cold steel of shackles wrapping around both his ankles. The fear was starting to win out again and he could feel his mind slipping as he tried to stop himself from whimpering.

He heard the click of a switch blade opening and before he had time to react to it, he felt it cut through the bindings on his wrists, and at the same time, someone roughly ripped his hood off. He used his newly freed paws to shield his sensitive eyes as harsh spotlights beamed in at him. It took several moments for the disorientation to wear off and his eyes to adjust as he rubbed at them with his paws.

More lights, and brighter at that, this place was built with the same grey concrete and metal bars that had been his entire world for so long. Its familiarity did not provide him any comfort, but its novel arrangement did scratch at his curiosity and now that he had use of his eyes again, he mined his visual range for anything that might be of use to him.

His ears had been correct about the scale. The room was as big as a stadium. Illumination provided by dozens of high-powered work lights barely reached the ceiling.

Even though the room was big, his immediate vicinity was small. He was enclosed in a smaller cage, one of a dozen similar cages filling the room. Arranged in a circle, they were all connected to a large, central enclosure. The mammals he'd smelled earlier occupied these other cells and they roared, shouted, cried, and howled to be released.

The fear returned, and Markus began shaking again as he ran his paws down to his ankles and felt around the vice that secured them. He could find nothing that would release them, and he felt his mind beginning to collapse in on itself again.

"Fox!"

The shouted voice momentarily paused his implosion and he turned to his left to see who had called out to him.

A rough-looking mountain goat with a patch over his left eye leaned against the bars. He surveyed Markus with a knowing grin as he took a messy bite out of a fresh apple.

Markus regarded the appearance of his visitor fearfully.

"I hear you's gotta kit up there," the goat said with a hoof pointed upwards. Bits of apple sprayed out as he spoke.

Markus growled and nearly fell over trying to get up, forgetting his trapped feet.

The goat grinned deviously. "Ya wanna see 'im again?"

Markus couldn't think of anything he wanted more, but all he could do was continue to growl and bare his teeth.

"Good. You still got some fight in ya's. I'd heard they brokes ya, but I'm glad they's was wrong."

A combination of paralyzing fear and standoffish anger kept Markus from speaking any more than he already was.

The goat just stared back at him for a few seconds. After another crunching bite of the apple, he grinned widely before he started up again. "Listen up, chomp. Iz' yer lucky day. We gonna let's ya go!"

At this, Markus finally stopped growling, and his creased muzzle began relaxing back over his fangs.

 _They are lying to you._

That was probably true, he didn't actually believe it, but they'd also never teased him with this promise before, that he remembered, at least. He knew it was a lie, that he shouldn't listen, but he wanted so badly for some part of it to be true. He fixed his pleading gaze on the goat.

"Y-you're l-letting me go?" the white fox asked timidly.

"All yous gotta do is win," the goat said with a grin that was anything but.

Markus's ears went back, and his tail instinctively curled around him.

"W-what?" he stammered. His shaking was getting worse again.

"You knows that blue stuff they been usin' on ya's?" The goat didn't wait for a response. "There's gonna be some of it at the middle a' the pit." He pointed towards the central area, but Marcus didn't follow it to look. "'ight there."

Confusion and fear stalled his mind from processing what he was hearing, and he could feel those tentative pieces of himself that he'd worked so hard to build back up crumbling to dust again.

"Ya gets it first, good. He gets it first, bad. Nether of ya's gets it, we gets ya both. Ya gets that?"

Markus could feel himself shutting down, but the anger inside him was fighting to keep him going. On a conscious level, he'd only processed that the chance of being let go might be real, but hadn't quite figured out what they wanted him to do to get it yet.

"Y-y-you'll l-let me g-go?" he stammered again, tears welling up in his blue eyes.

The goat shook his head, and responded with clear annoyance. "Weren't ya listenin', chomp? Ya gotta earn it! Listen. Ya gets that blue ball first, and yous be outta here in no time! I know it!"

Markus took a tentative glance towards the central area, then back to the goat as some of the grisly pieces started fitting themselves together.

"Oh-h-h-h!" the goat bleated with excitement. "An' don't fergets ta' smiles fer da' cameras!"

He pointed a hoof towards the light source in Markus's cage, and for the first time, his eyes found a dark black lens that had been hiding in the glare. There was a small red light blinking steadily next to it. Markus looked back to the goat, but he was already walking away, laughing hysterically.

Now that he had the shape of it in his mind, he looked back around his surroundings and couldn't help but notice them everywhere. There were dozens of cameras set up all around him. Some on tripods, some dangling from the ceiling, and others mounted to the cages, all partnered with tiny blinking red lights.

 _What would you do to get back to your son?_

Markus was just barely not so far gone that he didn't realize that the voice was only in his head, but he still knew it somehow had not come from himself.

He put his paws over his eyes and sobbed into them, his body shaking with heaving breaths. "Anything."

 _Then win. They told you how to win. Go out there and win._

He continued weeping into his paws knowing that the voice was right. Even if it was a lie, even if they wouldn't let him go, it was a chance, which was more than he'd had in a long time.

"Help me," he pleaded.

 _Give in._

And he did. He thought about a happy red fox kit with fierce blue eyes once more, about losing him - being taken from him - and he gave into the anger he found there. He let it grow and push out everything else. He stopped shaking, stopped growling, and stopped feeling anything. He knew what he had to do, and he knew that if he did it, nothing else would matter.

He had never put much faith in the Makers during his old life, and they'd remained rather silent to his supplications during his time in this one. Before giving in completely, he tried one last time, and whispered into his paws, _"Help me."_

His mind went blank and he let go of each fragmented piece of himself until all that was left was his focus on his singular goal.

He was unmoved by the leopard and the wolf, neither of whom ran for the center, and who were both changed, anyways. The leopard won, and the wolf lost. Then it was the tiger and the cheetah. The cheetah made it to the center first. The tiger lost, and after a short win, the cheetah succumbed to loss too. There was the weeping ocelot that tried to hide in his cage as an angry coyote made obscene gestures and barked venomous profanities at the cameras. The canine alone was changed and dragged the losing feline out by the neck for a win.

Then it was Markus's turn. The gate on his cage lifted, followed by the clamps on his ankles releasing. There was no need to focus on anything else but the pylon at the center. He could not see the brown bear on the far side of it, nor the wet smears of red splattered across the ground he ran over. Not the dangling cameras, nor the other captives. He smelt nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing save for a small blue ball. A blue not so dissimilar to the blue in his own eyes. A blue that matched the eyes of the one he'd do anything to get back to.

There was no purpose in considering the consequences, the choice had already been made. If he'd had any presence of mind left to do so, he might have asked for his son's forgiveness for what it was he was about to do, but the time for that had long since passed.

His jaw snapped shut, smoldering acid burnt his throat, and he gave in.

…

The meeting hadn't been long, but for Rigel, it had passed with all the qualities of a dream. The details were all familiar elements from his waking life, but strung together in such a way that the whole thing seemed a bit too fantastical and not quite right. Worse than any nightmare though, this existential epiphany persisted in its claims to be reality, and more than that, it forced him to confront the cold truth that the reality he'd been living in was itself the illusion.

The conclusion was inescapable: If someone could synchronize trading patterns with savage transformations, then they had inside knowledge of, or even influence on when these attacks were going to happen. The ramifications for the city, the country, the whole world really, were astronomical in scale.

The ramifications for Rigel himself personally were monumental as well. After the crisis began, he'd been shown that his social footing wasn't quite as secure as he'd originally thought it was. That revelation had made him begin to doubt other aspects of himself, like his belief that he was too affluent to really worry about going savage. Wearing the collar had rooted doubts of that deep within him and he had started really believing that it was possible.

That was what he'd been so scared of this morning. It hadn't been that Ainsley had barked and growled at him, it had been that he'd barked and growled back. Then he'd heard the warning beep from his neck and there before his eyes flashed the images of bloody bodies in the street, of feral beasts railing against cages, of what he imagined losing one's mind to such a dramatic extent felt like; the sheer terror of it had permeated every fiber of his existence, and he'd snapped.

After the revelations and meeting were over, he and Kivo had stayed behind and talked. Rigel had described some of these fears then - _what if we're wrong, what if we still go savage_ \- to the snarling anger of his best friend, fiercely telling him that he was wrong. Kivo hadn't been mad at him, more so that there existed a situation in which his packbrother was forced to doubt himself to such an extent.

Things had been silent after that, and had remained so during the journey back across the city, back to Kivo's car, and back to parking in his driveway one minute before curfew. All the while, Rigel tried to resolve his newly deep-seated fear of going savage, with his newly acquired knowledge, or at least theory, that it wasn't a natural affliction.

He knew what insider trading looked like, in no small part because he himself sometimes had to actively make it look like something different, and he also knew one couldn't inside trade on random events. They had to be predictable, and preferably influenceable. If savagery wasn't random, then there was some chance it was targeted. That possibility on its own seemed like a good enough reason to still be scared of turning, or being turned, given his newly shared hobby with Kivo.

If he was searching for _them_ , how long until they were searching for him? Given the atrocities of the savage crisis so far, and it was even more atrocious to think that this might all have been done on purpose, would the mammal or mammals behind this have any reservations about getting, _turning_ , him and Kivo too? Clearly not.

Scared as he was, tonight had renewed something between him and Kivo. A bond that had not been tested in quite some time and that had been dimmed substantially during the past two months. They were at each other's side once more, with a renewed commitment to have each other's back once again. Rigel was sure the camaraderie had never really been lost, but knowing for sure that it was there made him feel all the more ready to face his new challenges head on.

And quite the challenges they were going to be. From what he had gathered from _the file_ , and from reports given at the meeting, these were certainly life and death stakes.

There was overwhelming evidence that the highest levels of ZSEC were already compromised through and through based on the timing of their decisions alone. That was bad by itself, but the possibility that other governmental agencies, judicial and intelligence, could be a part of this as well was a truly bone chilling, and relatively logical extrapolation. Rigel now understood the reasoning behind the electronics prohibition that had been enforced by Kivo earlier in the night; it wasn't paranoia if there was evidence to back it up.

It was also the reason for the many uneasy reactions to Rigel's presence tonight. Even though Kivo wasn't technically their leader in any official capacity, it had been he who had started the group after anonymously receiving the first several case studies now preserved in the file. Given the severity of the situation, trust was a barely affordable premium these days, and if even a page of what had been discovered so far was true, then the consequence of bringing in a recruit not loyal to the cause would surely be death, or worse.

While on the metro ride back, Rigel had been shaken by the thought of being made to go savage with Aurora and his pups around, or even around Kivo. The thought was inconceivable, but he knew his mind would make its best effort to torment him with the image in the weeks, months, or maybe years to come.

The thought that it might take that long to get enough proof gathered was also a frightening prospect, especially if the consequences of the savage crisis continued along their present trajectory. Their goal was to find irrefutable proof linking someone specific to these activities, as well as evidence of ZSEC collusion, and release it to every media agency they could find, but if the changes of the past two months were any indication of what changes would happen during the next two, then they, as predators, might not be in a position to continue doing something about this for very long.

The group, so secret that it had even defied being named so far (and which Rigel thought that perhaps fronting it as an actual AA meeting wouldn't be such a bad idea), was made up of representatives from the biggest titans of finance in all of Zootopia, which was as good as saying _all the world_. With the representation of so many Paw Street rivals, they would now be able to start correlating and tracing data points and patterns flowing between banks and accounts that might otherwise have been unremarkable fragments when considered from the perspective of a single investing house. If something untoward was happening in the world of high finance, and the regulatory agencies were compromised, then Rigel could think of no group better to figure this out than the mammals who typically gave cause for those agencies to exist in the first place. They not only knew every trick in the book, many of them had been contributing authors.

They had been sitting silently in the driveway for quite some time, Kivo trying to give Rigel space to process, but the red wolf knew from his own experience that they could sit here for the rest of the week and Rigel would not have completely come to grips with the situation. But he'd had enough time for tonight, and there was something else that Kivo needed to come to terms with himself.

The red wolf worried his paws over the faraday box in his lap, but he didn't open it.

"I'm sorry, brother," he murmured ashamedly, looking down at his paws.

Shaking Rigel out of some of his shock, he looked up at his friend. "You don't have to apologize. I get that it's a big thing and… I know I haven't exactly been…"

Kivo cut him off. "Not for that. Well… I guess that, too. But I mean, for…" He took a deep breath. "For sending you to get the band…alone."

Rigel's eyes and ears dropped at the memory. "It-it's fine, Kivo. Really, it-its fine."

"No, it's not." The red wolf took in another deep breath. "I lied to you about how I got mine." He got the words out as quickly as he could, but not so fast that they ran together.

At this, Rigel's drooped ears went back slightly, and he looked up at his red companion as a wash of confused emotions distorted his features. Kivo continued looking down at the box in his lap, scratching lightly at it with his claws.

"When _he_ contacted me, and told me to start this group… He gave…" Kivo took another steadying breath and forced himself to go on. "He said it was so I could keep my position, and be where I was needed." Kivo looked up, ears down, with genuine remorse in his eyes and tone. "I swear I tried to get one for you, too. He said he could only show me where to get more if I needed them. I should have gone and got you one myself. I shouldn't have done that to you."

The red wolf couldn't hold his gaze and dropped his head back down to look at the box again. Rigel could sense the anguish welling up within him, and knew it was sincere.

"Kiv… I-I know you'd never do anything to hurt me intentionally. I know that. I do."

Kivo shook his head. "You almost died carrying me through the jungle for _six_ days, and I couldn't even…"

This time it was Rigel who cut him off. "Kivo," he said a bit loudly, getting the other wolf's attention. "Thank you for tonight. It… it feels good to have a purpose again."

Kivo shook his head hesitantly. "I still should have told you sooner." His disappointment in himself was pungent in his scent.

Rigel thought back though the previous weeks. The worst part had been feeling like he'd been drifting from Kivo, like he was alone. He got the sense that Kivo had felt a similar sensation, but now that they both knew for certain that they were not alone, none of that mattered anymore. They had each other, and if defending that bond was the only reason to enter this fight, then that was reason enough.

Confidently, he said, "I'm here now. We're together now. And we're going to hunt these pups of bitches down, and rip them to shreds. Together."

Unspoken between them was understanding and a renewed trust. For the first time since he'd put on his TAME Band, Rigel wasn't afraid of what tomorrow would bring. He felt alive again, and knew that whatever he faced, Kivo would be at his side to face it with him.

Kivo felt this himself, and could feel it coming off Rigel, too. Their connection made it impossible to be anything but genuine with each other and there was no doubt that Kivo was forgiven of his earlier transgressions. Feeling that vigor for the future replacing his guilt, a small grin started to form on his muzzle. He'd been convinced that he'd lost Rigel in that alleyway, but he now knew that his brother had been sitting in the seat next to him all along. Maybe the world really was never going to be the same again, but knowing they had each other's back again, would share each other's burden again, and be at each other's side again, made Kivo sure they could meet any challenge that was thrown at them.

"You're damn right we are," he said with an unrestrained wag of his tail, his grin growing wider.

Rigel began to smile too as Kivo reached his paw to the door handle and activated the controls that lowered the windows.

A cool evening breeze rippled through the car as Kivo looked back with a widening smile. Rigel just grinned and wagged more, nodding to the unspoken request.

Their echoing howls filled the night.

…

Markus did not know where he was, but that was no problem. He had no idea how he had arrived here either, but that was alright too. The light was bright, but it did not hurt. It was warm, but only pleasantly so.

The soft grass felt good between his toes and the gentle air smelt sweet in his nose. There was another scent there too, and it was also good. Ivory muzzle twitching, cobalt eyes searching; he looked around, but he did not have to look far.

He was already standing where he needed to be, which was obvious, because he had always been standing where he needed to be. But he need not stand any longer.

Sitting down on the bench, he saw that he was not alone. He knew that he had never been alone, and that he would never be alone again.

"I missed you so much."

A small red fox with brilliant cobalt eyes beamed at him.

"I missed you too."

They embraced, and the words lost their meaning. There would never be a reason for either of them to _miss_ again, and in truth, there had never been any reason for them to start with.

Wagging tails and perky ears; they each knew the other was happy, and while there was some sense of a time when they had not been, it no longer, had never, would never, matter.

It was no concern how they had arrived here, nor where it was that they had arrived. Nor had it ever, or ever would, matter where they were going next. They both knew that they would always be happy forever more, because they had always been happy forever before. They were both together, because they had always been together, and would always be together, forever.

…

"Fucking damnit!" Jayson shouted at the two-hundred-inch projection wall, as he slammed his clenched hoofs onto the snake-leather arms of his chair.

"YES!" Kyle neighed with riotous delight as he jumped up from the sofa, pumping his hoof into the air victoriously.

"Pay up!" he shouted at the caribou. His silhouette appeared black on the wall as the intercepted image of viscera-splattered concrete molded around the contours of his form.

Jayson shook his head and looked away from the gore-covered screen, huffing in exasperation. He missed the superimposition of two profile images, one showing a snarling white fox, the other a confused brown bear. They briefly floated over a shot of the blood-soaked arena before an animation of a dripping red 'X', and an accompanying anvil-strike sound effect, crossed out the one of the furious blue-eyed vulpine.

Still muttering curses under his breath, Jayson looked back up. "Fine," he said defeatedly. "Only half, though. I still called which would get the pellet first."

"Oh, c'mon!" Kyle objected, one hoof pointed dramatically at the screen, the other on his fifth scotch of the night. "I called that, too! And it was so obvious the fox was faster!"

Jayson chuckled, and pointed a hoof at the horse mockingly. "And it wasn't obvious the bear would win?"

Kyle stood still for a moment to consider this, then threw his hooves in the air with frustration, sloshing not too much of the nearly finished forty-five-year-old amber from his glass. "Then why the hell did you bet against him?!" he bellowed belligerently.

Jayson just smiled and shrugged as he relaxed back into his seat. "Eh. I guess I like an underdog."

After a short pause to think about it, Kyle began laughing uproariously. Jayson joined in immediately and they both continued on until long after either remembered why they'd started.

.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.I.

End notes

Just when you thought Jayson and Kyle couldn't be any more likable! But more on them later...

Congratulations on making it this far! At well over 25,000 words, this was by far the longest chapter, and has been one of my favorites to write. Hopefully it was one of your favorites to read!

The Wolves:

Rigel and Kivo's island adventure was fun to write because it drew in elements from many of my own personal experiences. My American audience may be familiar with brief period of time where civilian travel to Cuba was not restricted near the end of the Obama administration. Prior to that, a very limited run of student visas were approved to 'test the waters' for civilian tourism. I was part of the very first group of American students, American civilians really, (American furries?), to set foot (paw) on the island in over 50 years. And similar to our intrepid wolf pair, one of my fraternity brothers and I chose that particular study abroad for very similar reasons. We also did almost exactly what they did, specifically requested a cab to the specific area of Havana that was specifically deemed off limits. It wasn't to go see ruins, and neither of us broke an ankle, but we had some close calls. The professors had not been joking about what that part of town was like. We too had been abandoned by our "local _guide_ ", and after six hours, not six days, we did manage to make it back to our part of the city with only memories as lasting consequences.

Part of that same study abroad involved a month of galavanting around Costa Rica, where I got some amazing experiences and imagery of rainforest and jungle type environments.

A trip I took in high school involved 12 days and 150 miles of hiking up in the Rockies, where again, no one broke an ankle, but it was still harrowing, and provided many elements for this story as well.

Rigel and Kivo are really fun to write. Where else would I be able to combine this much predatory imagery into a finance setting? They have strong opinions on elitism and 'adaptable' ethics policies. I went to college with a few of these types of _wolves_ and I have some financial and accounting education myself.

It was good to catch back up with Rigel, who I know a lot of you liked, and it was great working on his packmate, who only got about 2 sentences in that chapter.

Finance Terms: I'm not Margot Robbie or Ryan Gosling in a bubble bath, so I'm not going to get too deep, but you can look them up (the financial terms, not the actors) if you are really that interested. The only one I made up was the 'resetting the board' which is not a practice in American markets that I know of, though I have heard the idea discussed in theory. As I discussed the last time we talked about finance, I think the herding instinct ( _herding exuberance_ ) would be cause for more safeguards against exaggerated market fluctuations.

The description of short squeezes is pretty accurate, but it would never cascade across the whole market like this unless things were really really bad. New and _exciting_ investment instruments built on top of historically stable ones were the cause of the 2008 crash, so those being a weak point in a crisis situation is also accurate.

Back when this was still on the drawing board, the finance meeting ended with someone being made to go savage. I decided that setting all this up just to have them finished off like that was far too self indulgent, and I torchered you all enough with the other narrative thread. I also still need this group alive to fulfil the need of having some other group come after The Purpose from a different angle. But we do know that at least Kivo has been flagged by Ricker's system as a possible dissident due to his relationship network with curfew breakers. It was hinted at the beginning, before the reveal, that Kivo suspected he'd been zapped because they somehow knew that he was doing something. Based on what we saw in chapter 24 (Collaborators) his fears are correct.

There was a bit of an easter egg hidden in Kivo and Rigel's past. So if you caught it, and you know how to respond to the question "Were you ever a sailor?" (a question to which there is but one answer), PM me the correct response.

The Fox:

Markus keep earning us that M rating. You can be mad at me for what I did to him narratively, but on a technical content level, none of this came even close to what was described in the award winning, international sensation, 4 movie deal Hunger Games series.

Markus's ending: divine or hallucination? I won't say. Again, his kit Mike is in my first fic, Good Cops Like You (which was recently re-edited by fatescanner, thank you!), so check that out to see what he's up to. Since both divine and hallucination theories allow for wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff, that story can continue to maintain its chronological integrity with the rest of the 3MaF universe without any problems.

Fun with languages, again:

Costa Visum (Coastal View) and Alto Arbrés (Tall Trees) are selected words from Spanish, Latin, French and (if I remember correctly) Italian. 'Net és ku yami', what the guide was yelling at Rigel, translates to 'Not my problem'. I drew that from Russian, Zulu, Hawaiian, and something else that I forget. I know I have a multilingual audience, so hopefully this sounded foreign to everyone!

Science!:

Coltan (the commodity that set off what Rigel thought was _the end_ ) is a real mineral. It is in every single electronic device you have ever interacted with and it has a _strained_ relationship with human-rights issues that I encourage you to look up and educate yourself on.

The Panthalassic (aka Panthalassa) was the name of the superocean that accompanied the supercontinent of Pangaea.

Phyletic is a term related to evolution. As was described on the island of Costa Visum, many of the species there were either larger or smaller than what might be expected. This is a common phenomenon that occurs to species land locked on islands like this.

Haplorhini Dominon:

Haplorhini (Definition by eng050599)- This is a large taxonomic clade, that includes the ancestors to most modern primates. More specifically, it includes all the "dry-nosed" primates, which importantly includes humans, as well as the other great apes. It originated about 65-55 million years ago, and contains two extant (still around) lineages, the simians and the tarsiers. The former group contains all the great apes and monkeys, while the latter contains a rather small grouping of insectivorous primates, that mainly reside in Southeast Asia. there was one additional branch in this clade, Omomyidae, but they all went extinct about 34 million years ago.

In order for primates (at least the higher ones) to not exist in Zootopia, this is how far back you'd need to prune the tree of life. Given the events of the time, particularly the K-Pg extinction event (when a large meteorite impacted the what is now Gulf of Mexico), it wouldn't take much for evolution to have taken a different path, and our ancestors simply didn't survive.

Wiping out the haplorhini doesn't mean that all primates are extinct, as the Strepsirrhini primates, including lemurs and slow lories, can still be around in Zooopia, and are probably just as intelligent as the other mammals. If the creators really intended to wipe out all primates, you'd need to go back almost 80 million years ago, and find the common ancestor for the Primatophora clade, but you should be careful. Going this far back means that small actions can have big repercussions, as this was the time when the precursors to the orders of Scandentia, Rodentia and Lagomorpha were coming into being (tree shrews, rodents, rabbits).

Thanks for the help eng050599! So this was my way of narativly explaining what happened to this branch of mammals. This solutions allows for species near to, and preceeding humans to have existed at one point, but also shows why they are not around now. Given the diversity of Zootopia, and the nearly 800,000 character models used in the film, with none being primates assoicated with this order (as confirmed by coments from the directors that there was a specific choice to have no primates in the movie), I have _derived_ canon that something must have happened, and this is the thing that I think happened.

World building:

As I said a few chapters ago, we will keep exploring the political environment and historical timeline. I introduced here the concept of a 'unification war' that happened about 2000 years ago, and I will confirm in an upcoming chapter that their year count started with the founding of Zootopia as a nation. That gives us a reason to keep the date as 2016, and in a way that does not involve pulling anything out of actual human history. I enjoy the parallels to our world and the puns, but I do also like keeping it a separate world from our own, with it's very own historical atrocities and achievements.

More on the history side of things. It was discussed during the flashback that there were guns in use 2000 years ago. This seems to stretch the timeline of Human technological advancement, but again, this is a distinct history from ours. I am working under a theory that their technological development would have been slower than ours. This I think is because technology is driven by 2 main factors: overcoming the environment and war. Because of the vastly expanded range of habitats that can be comfortably occupied by the collective of all mammals (as opposed to just humans), I think that would stunt the need for innovation. In war, with many species coming pre-equipped with effective weaponry in the form of claws, fangs, and horns/antlers, I think that would stunt the need for progress as well. To get a feel for this protracted timeline, imagine the development curve of humanity from 1000AD to 1700AD having taken place over the course of about 3000 years for them, with the last 200 years of development having taken place at about the same rate as our history since the technology of the industrial era and beyond tends to build on itself much more so than previous technologies.

As Above, So Below:

This is an old concept/philosophy that is found among several cultures/religions. A basic interpretation is that something that happens at one level, also happens in parallel at another level. So for this chapter, we have the wolves and Markus, both at completely different levels of existence right now, but both going through their own trials and tribulations. On a more literal note, the wolves were mostly above ground, while Markus was below ground. Even when the wolves were below ground in their offices, they had been moved there forcibly from a higher level, just like Markus who used to be above ground and was forced underground. I intentionally duplicated certain words and phrases between both stories to keep the in parallel, though that was a lot more subtle. Within Kivo and Rigel's story, there were parallels with what happened in the past and the present, though their roles were switched. Given the location of the Talon Mansion, Rigel and Kivo probably don't live all that far away from Jayson (perhaps even within howling distance), and since the abandoned power plant is buried in the mountain, Markus's struggle was going on just a few hundred feet below them all, which is a literal above and below scenario. There are quite a few other examples not worth mentioning, as well as some I probably didn't even realize I did.

Vast Conspiracy:

As nearly all of you readers are perpetually worried that this story has gone way too off the rails to be brought back in time, due to the size and scale of The Purpose, lets do a quick rundown of who all is opposing them so far:

Mr Big was up to something all the way back in chapter 11  
We had Wolford and Grizzoli out protecting the streets in chapter 20  
Kivo and Rigel are following the money in this chapter  
Nick and Judy will land them a major blow in about a month  
And of course, the ever intrepid Mr. Pouncehart is hot on the case

There will be more opposition to come, don't you worry.

Jayson and Kyle:

At the end of chapter 24 (Collaborators), Jayson had suggested that he knew of a way for Kyle to blow off some steam. This was that thing. It was also lightly implied that this was something Ricker has some involvement in. Given his skill sets, you might imagine he would have been managing the pirate stream of the fight, probably over a darknet connection, and Kyle and Jayson were not the only ones watching. There would have been other members of The Purpose all over the world tuning in.

The 'underdog' joke at the end was the original idea that sparked this chapter... It is ok to hate me for that.

Bonus points if you made it this far. Probably the longest notes section in addition to the longest chapter. Special thanks to fatescanner and eng050599 for editing this again. Appreciated as always. Be sure to check out the TVTropescompage for this fic (just type the title into the search bar on that site) that fatescanner set up. Check out this story and others on zootopianewsnetworkcom. If you are here at the recommendation of eng050599, thank you for joining us! If you are not, and have not read his fic, _Lost Causes and Broken Dreams_ , you are missing out! It is a really great story that just keeps getting better and better. If you like the grungy realism and world building I do in this story, you will love his story even more. Check him out here on FF or find him on AO3.


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